The Night of Death for Sale
by California gal
Summary: Artie has the misfortune of choosing a disguise that creates a man other people think they recognize and are unhappy to see, opening the door to death and danger--and madness--for both agents.
1. Chapter 1

_**THE NIGHT OF DEATH FOR SALE**_

**Chapter One**

Sometimes there are accidents in our lives the skillful extraction from which

demands a little folly. – La Rochefoucauld (1613-1680), French author

Artemus Gordon made his way through the crowded saloon toward the bar, aiming for that spot primarily because the gleaming mirror behind the bar would give him a good view of the patrons, whom he could then surreptitiously survey. He noticed a few curious glances cast in his direction. These kinds of places generally had a set clientele, the same patrons coming in week after week, if not night after night. A stranger would be noticed, and they were noticing him.

Which was why he had selected his disguise carefully. He and his partner had worked frequently in San Francisco, and the odds he could be recognized as an agent would have been high if he had not donned the dark whiskers and overshadowing eyebrows. He had pasted sideburns that needed trimming on either side of his face, and mussed his hair, which also could have used the services of a barber. He had deliberately not availed himself of that amenity upon arriving in the city by the bay. Cotton stuffed in his cheeks not only puffed his jaw out, but helped him change his manner of speaking. He was wearing an old jacket picked up at a second-hand store, a size too large, his trousers were mended, and old boots run down at the heel.

_Funny, no matter how long I've been doing this, how many times I've looked in a mirror to see a stranger looking back at me, knowing that it's _me _I'm looking at, it's always startling. I suppose that means it's a good disguise if it fools even me!_

Sipping the beer the bartender had served after his nod, Artie allowed his gaze to idly roam over the reflection in the mirror. Almost every table was occupied by several men, with a few women interspersed here and there. A man was playing a piano in the far corner, but the hum of conversation, along with some occasional loud laughter, pretty much covered the musical sounds. He did not see any faces he recognized.

Artemus did notice four men at the table against the far wall staring at him, and he made a point of keeping his own gaze away from them. Did they recognize him despite the disguise? One of the men, with flyaway red hair sticking out from under a knit watch cap, seemed to be angry. If this fellow was looking for a fight and had decided a newcomer, a stranger, would be a target, perhaps it was time to end tonight's perambulations. Jim would be waiting at the police station for a report, and the hour was late anyway. Or probably early. He had not brought a watch with him, but Artie suspected the time was well past midnight, heading toward dawn.

At almost the same moment he made the decision to leave, taking one last long swallow of his beer, Artemus saw the four men rising from their chairs. Their hard gazes were still on him. _They must somehow recognize me! I sure don't know them. Time to skedaddle out of here._

However, just as he had had to push his way among the crowded tables to get in, so was he hampered in retreating. In fact, the situation was worse because several men had decided to end their poker game, and as they stood up, they blocked his passageway. Thus he had barely reached the outer door when the four men, who had taken a different route, caught up with him.

Two grabbed his arms on either side and hurtled him out through the door. The redhead took the lead, turning left to head for the alley. Artie struggled against the grip, and began to protest aloud, until he suddenly felt the hard end of a pistol jammed against his spine.

"You were warned, Theo," one of the men pushing him toward the alley growled. "Didn't know you to be so stupid. What the hell did you come back for?"

"My name's not Theo," Artie protested, the words barely escaping from his lips when the pair shoved him hard into the alley. Losing his footing, Artemus went to his hands and knees, but was immediately jerked erect. The glow from the gas lamps on the street scarcely illuminated the alley, but the light was enough for Artie to see the rage on the face of the redhead facing him.

"Like Al said," the redheaded man growled, "you were warned. Stay out of Frisco. Why did you come back, Gaskin?"

"Listen, you've got me mixed up with someone else…"

The hard fist to his mouth cut off his words, and the next one slammed into his midsection, driving the breath from his body. He gasped for air, hearing the growling voice as if coming from some far distance.

"You're lucky this time, Theo." Another blow to the stomach. "We got orders to rough you up if we ever saw you again. The boss is soft on you. But you get out of Frisco and don't you come back! Ever!"

W*W*W*W*W

Jim West stretched his arms above his head, arching his back against the chair. "Hope Artie gets here soon." The clock sitting on the filing cabinet in the corner of the room revealed the hour to be close to three a.m.

Sergeant Lloyd Morris of the San Francisco Police Department chuckled. "Tired of our company, Jim?"

"Tired of going through these records. I think we're in a blind alley, Lloyd. Nothing here is going to lead us to the smugglers."

Morris shrugged. "Well, we can tell the Navy we tried." The two men had been going through files of crimes and criminals dating back several years, attempting to find information on some smugglers of illegal whiskey that had been finding its way into the city recently.

"Well, maybe Artemus had some luck. He's pretty good at ferreting information, especially when he's in some outlandish disguise." Jim looked around expectantly as the office door opened, but the man who entered was not Artemus Gordon.

"Sergeant," the young police officer said, "fellow just delivered a note for Mr. West."

Jim got to his feet to reach out for the paper the man held. "Might be from Artie." He unfolded it and read it quickly.

"What is it, Jim?" Lloyd Morris demanded, seeing the stricken expression on the agent's handsome countenance.

"It's from San Francisco General Hospital. Artie was brought in, badly injured." Jim brushed by the man in the doorway, heading for the stairs that would take him down to the building's entrance.

Morris raced after him. "Jim! I can get a police wagon sooner than you'll find a hack this time of night. And we can also travel faster."

When the two men entered the hospital a half hour later, Morris had to grab Jim West's arm to stop him, reminding him of the necessity to find out where Artemus was. Though he knew his friend was correct, Jim still hated any moment's delay. He had been ready to race down the halls, peering into every room. Stepping over to the information desk, he posed the question to the young man on duty who directed them to the second floor. Jim set off in a run, forcing the sergeant to keep up.

A doctor was standing outside the closed door, a spare man with sharp features and graying dark hair. Jim compelled himself to stop, taking a deep breath. "Doctor, I'm looking for my partner, Artemus Gordon."

The physician nodded. "He's inside."

"What happened to him."

"He was severely beaten."

"Beaten!" Jim glanced at Morris, saw the policeman was as startled as he was. "Who did it?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask any questions. That's the police's job. But he was able to tell us to send for you."

"Can I talk to him?"

The doctor frowned. "Perhaps. I just gave him a strong sedative. He needs rest and quiet. He has a cracked rib, but it's not severe. Worse are the contusions on his body and face. Go on in. He may still be conscious."

Jim pushed through the door, and halted again, thoroughly appalled. His partner lay on the bed, eyes closed, his face swollen and livid with bruises. A blanket was pulled up almost to his chin, but the bulk of the bandages on his chest was visible under the coverings. After a moment, Jim moved forward, going to the side of the bed.

"Artie… can you hear me?"

The brown eyes flickered open. "Jim…" Artemus lifted his hand, and Jim gripped it.

"I'm here, pal. What happened? Who did this? Why?"

"They said… thought I was… someone else. My disguise… Theo… Gaskin. Wouldn't… listen. Said I wasn't… wasn't supposed to be… in Frisco... warned to stay… away. Red-haired man." His eyes closed again.

"Artie?"

The doctor had come in behind them. "The sedative has taken effect. He should sleep for about twelve hours. As I say, it's the best thing for him right now. Breathing is very painful."

"Theo Gaskin," Sergeant Morris murmured.

Jim looked at him. "You know the name?"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure why. Nothing recent, I know that."

Jim gazed at his unconscious, battered partner again. "His disguise must have made him look like this Gaskin, and someone thought he had come back to San Francisco, against previous warnings. Lloyd, if the name means something to you, chances are this Gaskin has a record."

"True. In the morning…"

"Right now," Jim West snapped. "Finding out who Gaskin is could lead me to the men who did this to Artie. Let's go."

W*W*W*W*W

"Thanks, Lloyd," Jim West said, accepting the steaming mug of coffee from the sergeant. "And I apologize."

Lloyd Morris's dark brows rose. "For what?"

"I should not have expected you to stay here at the station all night with me. You're a married man. You should have been home with Betty."

Morris grinned, sitting down at his desk. "Betty has been a policeman's wife long enough to know that I don't always keep regular hours. We have visitors, my cousin and his wife, so she has company. Besides, I asked Tom Dirkson to stop by the house on his way home after his shift to tell her." His gaze dropped to the papers that were spread out in front of Jim at the table where he had been working. "What do you think?"

"Not sure. Theo Gaskin, thief. Not much more… except that he was questioned in connection with two murders."

Lloyd nodded. "That's where I remember him from. I was assigned to the Moffitt case. At the time, it was pretty much agreed that Gaskin's connections with that and the Kingston murder were pure coincidence. He had an unbreakable alibi in each case. It's funny, when I saw Artemus in disguise last night, I didn't think of Gaskin at all. Yet now that I am remembering him, I can see where someone might see a strong resemblance. Gaskin is about Artemus's size, dark hair, beard, sideburns… another coincidence I guess."

"Seems so. I want those men, Lloyd."

"I know you do, Jim. But all we have to go on so far is that one is redheaded."

"Yeah." Jim glanced up at the clock on the wall. "According to the doctor's prediction, Artie won't be waking for at least another four hours." His eyes dropped to the top folder on the table, and he opened it. "What about the Moffitt murder, Lloyd? Unsolved, it seems."

"Yeah. Apparently he was accosted late one night as he left his office. Must have put up a struggle, and was killed. All his money and valuables were taken. No witnesses."

"He had a partner…"

"Irving Condit. Even though we heard stories that the two men were at odds, nothing indicated he was involved in the murder. In fact, Condit was in Reno that week."

"What was the problem?"

"Apparently Condit was in personal financial trouble. Their real estate business was doing well, but Condit had gotten himself deeply in debt."

"Gambling?"

"No, speculation in some wild get-rich-quick schemes. The deeper he got, the more he speculated. Both men were bachelors at the time, and the terms of their partnership were that the survivor inherited. Which of course made us extremely suspicious, but we found nothing to connect Condit to the killing."

"And this Theo Gaskin was working for Abel Moffitt at the time."

"Yep. As a handyman at Moffitt's home. He had been there several weeks at the time of the death. He held the same position at the Kingston home when Gerald Kingston was murdered."

"Kingston actually lived in Daly City?"

"Yes, and kept offices here in the city. Very wealthy man. Apparently he also speculated, but with far more success than Condit did."

"Did the two men know each other?"

Lloyd frowned. "Don't know. Never heard that they did. They were killed two years apart. Different situations as far as their deaths were concerned too. Moffitt was killed in the street, Kingston in his office. He had a habit of working late, after everyone else had left the building. Someone went into his office, shot him at his desk. No witnesses. No motive that was ever discovered, though some objects were taken from the office. We couldn't determine if that was an afterthought or a motive. Nothing extremely valuable. Seemed strange that someone would enter an office building, even after hours, to commit a robbery… unless they thought Kingston had something valuable. Kingston was shot by someone standing in front of his desk."

Jim's fingertips drummed on the folders. "There are some pretty long gaps in Gaskin's police record. Any idea where he was during those times?"

"No… never even thought of it. Just meant that he wasn't getting into trouble, I guess."

"His actual criminal record ceased about four years ago… just before the Moffitt murder."

"What are you getting at, Jim?"

Jim West sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know. I'm tired. You are too. I'm going to my hotel, get a couple hours of sleep, a shave and fresh clothes. Maybe a late breakfast. Then I'll go talk to Artie. Go on home, Lloyd. You are probably due to start your next shift soon."

Morris laughed. "I've got a whole six hours." He got to his feet. "When I come back, I'll look up some of the officers who were involved in the investigation in those two killings, and also ones who knew Gaskin to see what they have to say."

"Thanks. I just have this strange feeling, Lloyd, that there's something buried here. Why would Gaskin be ordered to stay out of the city? Does he know something? Something someone is afraid he'll talk about?"

"Seems to me that that someone would have done more than just have Gaskin—or the man they thought was Gaskin—beat up."

"Yeah. That occurred to me. Stranger still."

W*W*W*W*W

Artemus Gordon thanked the nurse who had just helped him sit up against the pillows. Though the effort had been painful, he had been tired of laying flat, staring at the ceiling. He wished that this nurse had been the comely young blonde who had brought his meal awhile ago, but the matronly lady had a kind face and had been very gentle with him, so he could not complain too much.

"I'll come back in a little while to see if you are weary and want to lay down again, Mr. Gordon," the nurse said, pausing as she opened the door. She looked back over her shoulder at Artie. "Oh, you have a visitor. Come in, sir."

"Hello, Artie," Jim West said as he stepped inside and pushed the door closed. "How are you feeling?" The livid bruises on his partner's face were still appalling, but Jim thought the swelling had gone down some, especially around the cut on Artemus's mouth.

"Sore as hell. But I feel lucky to be alive."

"More than you know," Jim responded, moving a chair so he could sit alongside the bed.

Artie gazed at him. "You'd better explain, pal."

"First you tell me the details of what happened to you last night. All you were able to say last night is that a redheaded man beat you, believing you to be a man named Theo Gaskin."

"Not much more to tell. Four men accosted me in the bar, put a gun in my back, and forced me into the alley. I tried to tell them I was not this Gaskin, but 'Red' told me how lucky I was they were only going to beat me senseless. Seems this Gaskin had been warned out of the city for some reason. 'Red' did say that their boss said Gaskin wasn't to be killed… yet."

"So they were acting under orders from someone else."

"Seems so. Oh, and the name Al was mentioned. One of the men who held me while 'Red' pummeled me."

"Would you recognize them if you saw them again?"

"I'm pretty sure. In fact, I was thinking about asking for a sketch pad so I could draw what I remember. But that's for when I feel a little stronger. Now tell me what you know."

Tersely, Jim revealed to his partner the information he had gleaned from the police files. Artemus listened soberly, then finally shook his head. "Strange, indeed. What do you suppose this Gaskin did, and to whom, to get himself banished under threat of bodily harm?"

"I don't know. But I intend to find out."

Now Artie's brows lifted. "_You_ do? Seems to me this is a police matter."

"I went back to the police station before I came here and spoke to Lieutenant Wentworth, who had been in charge of the Kingston investigation. He told me of another unsolved murder in the city. Do you remember Alex Byram?"

"Yes, of course. The federal attorney who was shot down in the street, in broad daylight, little over a year ago. Didn't they lay the blame on some vengeful person that Alex had prosecuted?"

"Yes, but no arrests were ever made. Here's the thing. Although Gaskin was never connected to this particular murder in any way, the day after Byram's death appears to be the day Gaskin left San Francisco."

His partner shook his head. "Jim, I don't see…"

"I don't either. Not yet. I just have a gut feeling that there's a lot more to this."

"But again, it's a police matter."

"Byram was a _federal_ attorney, Artie. Agents were involved in the original investigation. I'm going to ask Colonel Richmond to allow us to reopen the case."

Artemus was still doubtful. "Richmond is going to be arriving in San Francisco any time now. He won't be happy that we didn't come up with anything on the smuggling ring."

"We did our best, Artie. The Navy is going to have to handle it without our help."

"Well, good luck to you in persuading the colonel to let us work on it. He's going to say it's a city police matter. Which it is."

Jim's jaw set stubbornly. "Then maybe I'll take some leave that's due me."

Artemus gazed at his partner. He thought he knew what was really eating at Jim West. When they made the plans for Artie to roam the city's bars trying to ferret out information about the smugglers, Jim had first insisted he needed to trail along. Artie had refused, saying it would compromise his disguise if someone happened to recognize Jim, or even just saw the two of them in the same watering holes at the same time. Particularly if that same someone saw them together in more than one saloon. Some celebrants often moved from bar to bar as well.

Jim had argued, but yielded. Now, Artemus was certain, Jim was experiencing some guilt that he had not been there to rescue his partner from the beating. No use to say anything. Jim would deny it vehemently.

"Well," Artemus said then, "have your go at Richmond. I'll be out of here by tomorrow…"

"Not hardly," Jim broke in. "You can hardly take a breath without wincing."

"I heal fast," Artie retorted.

"Yeah, if you follow doctor's orders. You stay in that bed, pal. I'll keep you posted on what I learn."

"What are you going to do first?" As much as he hated to admit it, and he never would aloud, Artemus knew Jim was right. He was going to be in this bed longer than another twenty-four hours.

"First, I'm going back to police headquarters. Lloyd is rounding up some officers who dealt with this Theo Gaskin, and I also want to talk to the detectives who worked on the three murder cases. Then I might go talk to the people involved, the friends and families of the victims."

"Jim, you'd better wait until you get the colonel's permission…"

Jim got to his feet. "Right now I'm just an interested bystander, Artemus. Don't worry, I won't do anything rash. Take care of yourself and obey the doctors… and nurses."

"Jim!" His partner halted in the doorway. "I have a sketch pad in my valise, along with a pack of pencils. Bring them to me next time you visit—along with some fresh clothes."

"You won't need the clothes for awhile, pal."

"Yeah, but I'd like to be prepared the moment the doc says I can get out of here." He gazed at his friend in complete innocence.

"Will do," Jim responded, nodding. With a wave, he strolled out of the door.

Artemus Gordon sighed deeply, and winced with the pang of discomfort it caused in his chest and abdomen. _He'll never change. He obeys the rules when it suits him. And dang it, he gets away with it when the rules don't suit him. I suppose that's why he's the finest agent this country has ever known… well, maybe one of the _two _finest agents._

W*W*W*W*W

Colonel Richmond's countenance was stony as he listened. Jim was not surprised. He knew as well as Artemus did that Richmond wanted his agents to deal with federal business, not local matters. For that reason, he completed his discourse with the alternative. "If you feel this is not something we should not be involved in, sir, I'll take some leave and…"

Richmond held up a hand. "Hold on, hold on. Don't be so hasty." He got up from the chair where he had been ensconced in his hotel room, crossed to the small table and a coffee service that had been delivered a short while ago. "Coffee?"

"No, thank you," Jim replied, rather automatically. Actually, a cup of coffee would not taste so bad right now. The hour was well into the afternoon, and he had not had any refreshments since the early hours of the day. He did not reverse his decision, however. He hoped to finish this conversation and get busy, and the coffee would go to waste.

The colonel poured himself a cup, added a cube of sugar, stirred it slowly. Jim remained silent. He knew his commander well. Richmond used these deliberate actions when he was thinking, considering. Despite his own anxiousness to get busy, Jim knew that working with the backing of the agency would be far preferable than striking out on his own. However, he also knew that one way or another, he was going to find the bastards who did this to Artemus.

"Alex Byram was a friend of mine," Richmond said, turning slowly, still stirring the steaming liquid with the silver spoon. "My wife and his were—and are—friends. Nell Byram took the children back to Illinois after his death."

"Yes, sir. That information is in the police report. I… I hoped to contact her to find out if the name Theo Gaskin is known to her."

Now Richmond frowned as he started to remove the spoon from his cup. "You actually think that Byram's murder is connected in some way to the other two?"

"I just want to be certain."

"If it turns out to be true," Richmond spoke deliberately, "it would seem to be more than coincidence."

"Yes, sir." Jim waited. Colonel Richmond was not always a quick thinker, but he was a sure one. His value during the war had been his ability to keep a cool head, to see and comprehend what was happening in the chaos that was battle, and to issue the proper orders. Grant had recognized that talent and appointed him head of the Service.

The colonel put the used spoon back on the tray, took a tentative sip of his coffee. He then looked at the young man standing before him. "Conditional."

"Sir?"

"I'll grant you conditional leave to investigate, Jim. Contact Nell Byram. I'll give you her address. If she indeed is familiar with Gaskin's name, then I want you to work _with_ the San Francisco police. You have friends there. They'll cooperate."

"Yes, sir, they will." Lloyd Morris had already offered his services. "I'm due back at headquarters to talk to some officers who investigated the murders."

Now Richmond returned to his chair, his frown deepening. "You are aware that some city police are not the most honest of men."

"Yes. But Lloyd Morris is not one of them. He's a competent policeman, and he's steered me to others who believe in upholding the law." Jim had dealt with officers who expected to be bribed into "solving" crimes, or at least rewarded afterwards, here and in other towns and cities.

"All right. Go ahead with the investigation. I'll be here at least a week, so keep me updated."

"Thank you, sir. Are you going to visit Artemus today?"

"I thought I would."

"Would you mind taking him a sketch pad and a change of clothes? He thinks he can draw portraits of the men who attacked him."

"Absolutely. We'll have the sketches photographed and distributed. Excellent idea."

W*W*W*W*W

Artemus accepted the pad of paper from the colonel as the pretty blonde nurse took the satchel of clothing to the closet to hang them up. He was glad that no one suspected an ulterior motive in his request for clothes. Those he had been wearing at the time of the assault were not only unbecoming, they had become torn and bloodstained, hardly what he would want to be garbed in as he strolled out of the hospital after "visiting a friend," an excuse he would give anyone who might accost him.

"You think you can give us a good likeness?" Richmond asked.

"Especially of the redhead," Artie nodded, opening the pad to a clean page. "Where's Jim?"

"Sending a telegram to Alex Byram's widow, and then he's going back to police headquarters to meet with detectives who had been assigned to the murders."

"So you gave him permission?"

The colonel's smile was wry. "Do you think it would have done any good to refuse him?"

Artemus quelled the urge to chuckle, conscious of the bruises on his body, and smiled instead. "Seems you are coming to know him almost as well as I do."

Richmond sat down in the chair beside the bed, watching as his agent's pencil moved deftly over the paper in front of him. "Solving Alex Byram's murder would go a long way toward assuaging the grief his family and friends feel. He was a good man. An excellent prosecutor."

"Which of course is why the police laid the blame on some unknown person seeking revenge." Artie barely glanced up from his task. "He sent many men to jail or the gallows."

"I was unable to be here at the time of the investigation," Richmond stated, "but a couple of months later I read all the police reports. I was satisfied that they, and the federal agents assigned at the time, did all they could. They looked up numerous men who had been the subject of Alex's investigation or prosecution, as well as friends and family of those men. No clear suspects were determined."

Now Artemus raised his eyes. "No _clear_ suspects?"

"One man, the father of a fellow hanged after Alex prosecuted, had been particularly vitriolic at the time of the sentencing, and for a long time afterwards, writing letters to Alex, to the department, and to newspapers. He had been living here in San Francisco, but he moved to Seattle a few weeks before the murder. He had an ironclad alibi. He was also gleeful when informed of the murder."

"Any chance he hired someone to do the deed?"

"That was considered, but nothing was ever found. If he did, he did a bang-up job of doing it secretly."

"Jim may be chasing shadows," Artie said thoughtfully. "There may be no connection at all among the three murders. Gaskin's involvement just…"

"Coincidence," Richmond filled in. "A great deal will depend on Nell Byram's response to Jim's telegram. If Gaskin is known to her…"

"Then it seems to me it behooves us to find this fellow Theo Gaskin."

W*W*W*W*W

"Jim, this is my cousin Wade Morris. Wade, Jim West. Wade is on the Sacramento police force, Jim."

Jim reached out to shake the hand of the man standing beside Sergeant Morris. The resemblance was strong between the cousins, both being of stocky build, with curling dark hair. While Lloyd had blue eyes, Wade's were brown. "Glad to meet you, Wade." Jim waited, quite aware that Lloyd had a reason for bringing his cousin to the station. They were in Lloyd's small office.

"When I went home," Lloyd said, "I of course was explaining to Betty and Wade and his wife why I had been out all night. I mentioned the name Theo Gaskin."

"Ah!" Jim looked at the cousin. "And you recognized it?"

"I did, sir," Wade Morris replied. "Three years ago Theo Gaskin was in the employ of a man who was murdered in his home in Sacramento. Gaskin was cleared of any complicity. The murder is still unsolved."

Jim West controlled his excitement. Even without hearing back from Nell Byram, this was getting more and more interesting. "Any idea where Gaskin is now?"

"No. He may well be in the Sacramento area, but we had no reason to keep tabs on him."

"He had no criminal record there?"

"No, sir. I'm afraid we did not follow through at the time to check on any records in San Francisco or anywhere else."

"You had no reason to," Jim smiled.

"Is it still pure coincidence?" Lloyd wondered. "Is he just a jinx who happens to be present in the lives of three murdered men?"

"That remains to be seen. Tell me about the murder in Sacramento, Wade. Who was the victim?"

"Man named Thomas Prater. He was a very successful merchant, owned stores in Sacramento, Modesto, and a couple of other places. He was found shot to death in his home office, by his wife who had been away for a couple of days."

"No servants?"

"Seems the missus gave the servants the time off, while she was away. Prater ate his meals in town. He was entirely alone in a rather large house. Neighbors not only didn't see anything amiss, they did not hear the gunshot. Not too surprising, because it's in a neighborhood of large homes with expansive yards. It was determined he was killed sometime late at night, so again no surprise that neighbors were not out and about to notice anyone lurking."

Jim nodded, impressed. Seems being good policemen ran in the Morris family. Wade was not waiting to be asked for specific information.

"Suspects?"

"None at the time. From all accounts, the marriage—childless—was a good one. Mrs. Prater was grief-stricken. Prostrate I believe is the term."

Jim cocked his head. "None at the time?"

"Well, about a year later, Mrs. Prater married her brother-in-law, her husband's younger brother. I should have mentioned that Thomas Prater was some eighteen or so years older than his wife. She had inherited everything of course. The newlyweds sold it all and left the area. By the time we heard about the business, they were living in Europe."

"But they both had solid alibis at the time of the murder."

"Exactly. Mrs. Prater was with friends in Modesto. Half a dozen reputable people vouched for the fact that she was attending a theater performance at the time the murder was believed to have occurred. George Prater's alibi was equally strong. He was in Denver on business. Again, lots of witnesses."

"And Theo Gaskin worked for Prater at the time of the murder."

"Yes. Like all the hired help, he was off the premises, and provided witnesses to prove he was in a downtown saloon that night."

Jim West scrubbed his hand through his dark locks. "I'm not sure what to make of it. But I think I know something we need to do, and that's contact other law enforcement agencies in the state to see if they have anything on Gaskin."

"You expect to find him connected with more murders?" Lloyd asked in astonishment.

"I don't know, Lloyd. At this point I just want to cover everything. Let's go talk to the officers you rounded up."

W*W*W*W*W

"The detectives weren't able to provide much of anything new," Jim said, settling into the chair beside his partner's bed. "But they did provide the sense of frustration they had experienced."

"So what's next? I gave Richmond my sketches and he's going to have them duplicated. But San Francisco is getting to be a pretty good-sized city and tracking those four might not be easy. Especially if they learn about the mistake they made."

"That's something I forgot to mention," Jim said. "I asked the police and hospital staff to keep the attack on you quiet."

Artemus frowned. "Why?"

"I'm just playing a hunch."

"You don't want Red and his pals to know they roughed up the wrong man?" Artie nodded then. "Good thought. If they learned they assaulted an agent of the U.S. government, they might vamoose."

"That's part of it," Jim admitted. "How are you feeling?"

The change of subject was obvious. "Still pretty damn sore. But better." He put a hand on the heavy bandaging around his midsection. "I'm not sure which is worse, the bruises or this wrapping. Makes it difficult to move."

"Which is the intent," Jim smiled.

"What are you going to do next?"

"Talk to people."

"What people?" Sometimes getting information from James West was infinitely harder than the proverbial pulling of teeth.

"Survivors. The partner of Abel Moffitt, and the widow of Gerald Kingston."

"You expect to learn something from them that the police did not?"

"Artie, I don't know. I do know that the police didn't ask many questions about Gaskin. They treated the Moffitt and Kingston murders as separate events. Gaskin is popping up too many places." Briefly he told his partner of the information imparted by Wade Morris.

"This is getting too weird, James. What in the world could be Gaskin's involvement in all these murders?" Artemus paused, gazing at his partner's sober countenance. "Could he be a hired killer?"

Jim quickly shook his head. "His alibis are too strong. In every instance he was elsewhere. But I'm thinking…"

Artemus interrupted. "He has something to do with a hired killer, or killers. But who?"

"That's the big question, pal. If there is a hired killer who is using this Gaskin as some sort of… of scout for his victims… who is he? The department certainly hasn't heard of any such thing, nor has the San Francisco police. When I mentioned the possibility to Captain Cullen, he drew a blank."

"If it is a hired killer," Artemus mused, "that would explain why no connection has been apparent among the murders. But it also raises suspicion toward survivors, especially those who profit."

"And that's why I'm visiting Irving Condit first thing in the morning. He profited in a big way. His debts paid off, he seems to have started fresh and is a successful realtor."

"No more speculation?"

"At least none that wiped him out financially."

"And the widow Kingston?"

"I sent a note to her asking for a meeting. I hope to hear back today. She appears to still be residing at the family mansion in Daly City."

"That's a fair distance."

"I know. Blackjack could use a good run."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind,

The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

_Henry VI, Part V, vi, ii, _William Shakespeare

Jim West entered the office building on Montgomery Street at midmorning, consulted a directory on the wall of the lobby, then took the elevator to the third floor. He knew that this was not the same building in which the murder of Abel Moffitt had been committed. Lloyd Morris had been able to tell him that shortly after assuming full control of the business, Irving Condit had not only moved to a newer, more swanky address, he had also married.

Gilt letters on a frosted door window proclaimed the location of the firm of Condit Real Estate, Inc., Irving Condit, President. Jim opened the door and stepped into a well-appointed anteroom, staffed by a bespectacled young man at a desk who looked up with an anticipatory smile.

"Good morning, sir. Looking to make a purchase in real estate?"

"Not exactly. My names is James West. I want to talk to Mr. Condit."

The beaming welcome faded. "What is your business with Mr. Condit?"

"That's between Mr. Condit and me. Is he in?"

The glance toward the door behind him revealed the truth as the secretary said, "No, he's away on business."

"Thank you," Jim murmured, pushing through the swinging gate in the polished wooden rail that separated the secretary's area from the chairs where visitors would wait.

"Wait a minute—!"

Jim shrugged off the hand that grasped at his sleeve and entered the inner office. Irving Condit looked up in surprise behind the broad polished desk. His office was even more impressive than the anteroom. Successful indeed.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Condit," the secretary groveled. "He forced his way in…"

Jim reached inside his jacket to pull out the folder with his identification, extending it toward Condit. "My name is James West. I'm an agent of the federal government, investigating the murder of prosecuting attorney Alexander Byram."

Irving Condit stared at the identification, looked at Jim, glanced at his hovering secretary, back at the card in the folder, and finally back to Jim West. "What do you want with me? I don't know anything about that." He waved a hand and the secretary scooted out, closing the door.

Condit was a middle-aged man with thinning blond hair, an impressive mustache, and a girth that suggested he enjoyed food. When he stood up behind the desk, he proved to be rather short in height.

Uninvited, Jim moved a leather-upholstered chair closer to Condit's desk and sat down. "Mr. Condit, in the past few years, several unsolved murders have occurred in San Francisco. One of them was that of your partner, Abel Moffitt."

Condit sank back into his chair. "I don't understand. You said you were investigating the murder of Byram. That has nothing to do with Abel's death."

"That remains to be seen," Jim replied smoothly. He noticed how Condit's hands were fidgeting on the desktop, picking up a pencil, putting it down, moving a sheet of paper, picking up the pencil again. "I am most interested in a man who was working for Mr. Moffitt at his home at the time of the murder, one Theo Gaskin."

"Never heard of him." The response was swift, and Condit's expression revealed he belatedly realized that he had spoken too quickly. He cleared his throat. "Wait. I think I recall the police asking me about such a fellow. I'd never met him. Never. He worked for Abel at his home."

"Then you haven't seen Gaskin since the death of your partner."

"I just told you, I never met him." Condit pulled a handkerchief from inside his coat and wiped his hands on it.

"Did you know Gerald Kingston?"

Condit's mouth open, then closed. He had been about to voice a denial. Instead he cleared his throat. "I believe I may have met him at some social event."

"You once engaged in speculation. I understand that Kingston was also a speculator."

Condit laughed nervously. "Out of my league, I'm afraid. And as you are undoubtedly aware, much more successful that I was."

Jim remained silent a long moment, gazing at the man across the desk. Condit cleared his throat again, picked up the pencil and moved it to the other side of the desk, gazed above Jim's head toward the closed door. Finally Jim spoke in a casual tone.

"In a sense, one could say that your partner's death came at a fortuitous time for you."

"I was in Reno when Abel was murdered!"

Again Jim held his tongue for several seconds, keeping his gaze steady on Condit's face. The handkerchief wiped at the realtor's mouth, then forehead. "You were in Reno on business?" Jim finally inquired mildly.

"Yes. Yes. Looking at some property." Condit chuckled uneasily. "Turned out to be worthless."

"But you had witnesses to your presence there."

"Yes! Several! The police have their names and statements. Why are you asking all this now?"

"As I mentioned," Jim replied calmly, quite aware that the more serene he remained, the more nervous Condit was going to become, "the government is continuing the investigation of the unsolved murder of federal attorney Alexander Byram, with the cooperation of the San Francisco police. We are attempting to determine whether there is any connection among several unsolved murders."

"I don't understand," Condit protested. "I remember Byram's death. He was shot down on the street! My partner was killed in a robbery, and… er… I believe Kingston was murdered in his office. Uh… stabbed?"

Jim did not correct him. He was certain Irving Condit knew that Gerald Kingston had also been shot to death. "Still, we have found certain similarities. Enough that I decided to talk to you, and I appreciate your taking your valuable time to allow me to ask a few questions."

"Uh, yes. Of course. I'm very anxious to have Abel's murder solved. Very anxious."

Before Jim could say anything further, the office's door opened. When he looked around to see the woman who entered, he came to his feet, as did Condit, who was demonstrably relieved that the interruption occurred. The woman was young, middle twenties, with blonde hair stylishly coifed under an equally stylish chapeau, her garb perfectly fitting her well-endowed shape. Big brown eyes touched briefly on the man behind the desk, but then swept over the visitor with open approval.

"Lydia, dear!" Condit gushed. "I didn't expect to see you in the city today."

"I need some shopping money," the young woman said, again barely glancing his way. "Introduce me to your guest, Irving."

Condit cleared his throat. "This is Mr. James West, dear. He's an agent of the government. Mr. West, my wife."

Jim nodded, smiling as he met the woman's openly admiring gaze. "My pleasure, Mrs. Condit."

"The pleasure is all mine," she simpered, extending a gloved hand. Jim took the hand, his smile remaining, warm gaze meet hers. She was not exactly the type of woman he preferred. Besides being married, her obvious interest in money and material things was overt. He knew, nonetheless, the value of keeping the interest alive. "Are you in town on business, Mr. West?"

Jim released the hand with obvious reluctance. "I'm afraid so. Among other things, I'm investigating the death of Abel Moffitt."

"Oh dear!" The brown eyes widened. "That was such a tragedy. Of course I was not married to Mr. Condit at the time, but I know all about it. Such a tragedy! If I can help you in any way, Mr. West, any way at all, please feel free to call on me… at home. I'm nearly always there while Mr. Condit is here toiling away." The eyelashes fluttered, the coy smile returned.

Jim did not need to look at Irving Condit to be aware the man was seething. "Thank you, Mrs. Condit. That's very kind. I may take you up on your generous offer."

"Here!" Condit came around the desk. "Here, Lydia. Here's the money you need." He had his wallet out, and handed her a wad of bills. He had welcomed her arrival, but now wanted to shoo her away and out of the presence of the younger man.

"Oh, gracious, Irving, dear. Thank you. He's such a kind and generous husband, Mr. West." Lydia tucked the money into her reticule. "He's always here working so hard so that I can have the little pleasures in life. Sometimes I feel _so_ guilty!"

"I'm sure your husband only wants you to be happy," Jim smiled. He had received numerous "invitations" in his life, but few so blatant, and even fewer in the presence of the husband.

Irving Condit ushered his wife out the door, and when he returned, he was perspiring even more heavily, although perhaps for a different reason. Jim had not been surprised to realize that Condit's bride was probably half her husband's age. Condit would have to work very hard to keep his wife happy, earning enough to support her spending habits.

"Lovely lady," Jim commented as they sat down again. "You're a lucky man."

Condit cleared his throat. "Yes. Yes, indeed. Mr. West, I have a great deal to do here. If you don't have any further questions…"

Jim got to his feet, extending his hand across the desk. "Thank you again for your time, Mr. Condit. You've been most helpful. Probably more than you know."

Whatever color that had remained in Condit's complexion washed from his face as he obviously tried to remember what he had said that could be so "helpful." With a nod, Jim left the office and took the elevator down. Leaving the building he crossed the street to a small restaurant where, fortunately, a table near the window was available. Ordering coffee, he waited and watched. About ten minutes later Condit's male secretary hurried through the front door and walked swiftly up the street. He had a white envelope in his hand.

Jim threw some coins on the table and exited the restaurant, stopping just inside the alley next door to watch the secretary enter a doorway a block away. Less than a minute later, the bespectacled man emerged and headed back toward the building of his employment. Jim remained where he was, watching the doorway the secretary had used. Within minutes, a man emerged, stuffing a white envelope into his jacket pocket. The man started walking in the opposite direction the secretary had taken.

Jim West followed at a distance. Seeing his quarry turn a corner, he quickened his own steps, then cursed silently when he also reached that corner to find the man had vanished. He could have entered any number of doorways, or could be on the streetcar that was rolling down the hill. Perhaps he was in one of the two hacks Jim saw traveling down the street as well.

Retracing his steps, Jim paused at the doorway where the secretary had entered and the man afterwards emerged. A sign on the front listed the offices of dentists, lawyers, doctors, and sundry other professions. Jim stepped inside and walked down a narrow hallway, noticing the signs on the closed doors.

Nothing he saw prompted him to stop and enter any door. He could not spare the time right now to investigate every office, especially because that man who took the envelope could have simply been waiting here in the hall, though for what reason Jim could not hazard a guess. No one except Artemus knew he was going to be visiting Condit this morning. Plus the chance remained that the envelope may have had nothing to do with the situation he was investigating, though Jim would have put money on it being involved. Perhaps Lloyd would have information on the tenants of this building.

Returning to his hotel, Jim found a message waiting for him from Mrs. Kingston, agreeing to a meeting and suggesting he come to her home at mid afternoon. After asking the desk clerk to arrange for the stableman to have his black stallion saddled by two p.m., Jim hailed a hack to take him to the hospital. He found his partner looking and feeling better. Icepacks on his face had taken the swelling down and reduced the discoloration.

"But the doctor says I have to stay another couple of days," Artemus groused.

Jim nodded. "Listen to the doctor, Artemus. Remember you have a cracked rib under all those bruises."

"Yes, papa," Artie muttered. He knew better than to even hint to Jim that he was planning to abscond from the hospital well before being officially discharged. Once out on the street, displaying his fitness, no one could send him back. "Now tell me what's going on."

"I visited the surviving partner of Abel Moffitt… and made him very, very nervous."

"That right?"

"He was sweating buckets."

"As though he had a guilty conscience, huh?"

"That's the impression I got."

Artie rubbed his chin, winced slightly as he touched a still sore spot. Though the livid coloration was going away, the tenderness was lingering. "So, I presume you are thinking that he arranged for the death of his partner."

"You're reading my mind."

"I'm good at that. Especially when you're so transparent."

"Thanks. When I left the office, I hung around a few minutes. Condit's secretary—a man, by the way—left the building, carrying an envelope. He went into a doorway a block or so away, was inside for a very short time before he came out and went back to work. After another couple minutes I saw a man with what looked like that envelope come out. I lost him about two blocks down."

"Could be just office business."

"Could be. Or he could be sending a message to… someone."

"If that's the case, you could make that 'someone' nervous."

"I hope so."

Artemus knew better than to voice a protest. Jim West thrived on putting himself in peril. "Anything else of note?"

"Irving Condit has a young, beautiful wife who likes to spend money… and flirt."

"Figures."

"I have a personal invitation to visit her, when her husband isn't home."

Artie's dark brows lifted. "She said that in her husband's presence?" Jim just grinned. "What about the poor Kingston widow?"

"I'm going to see her this afternoon. My primary hope where she is concerned is that she might be able to provide more information on friend Theo. I forgot to tell you about Lloyd's cousin Wade."

"Oh? Family reunion time?"

Succinctly, Jim related what the Sacramento policeman had told him. "Artie, I've got to believe that Gaskin was some kind of front man, a scout so to speak. Maybe provided information on the intended victim's habits and movements."

"Makes sense. But why was he banished from San Francisco if he was so valuable?"

"Lloyd is contacting other law enforcement agencies in the state to not only find out if Gaskin was involved in a murder in their area, and also trying to find out where he is now."

"No word from Mrs. Byram yet?"

"No. Knowing whether Gaskin was involved in Byram's death is a little less important now."

"Except as a reason for Richmond to allow us… you… to continue on the case."

"There is that, yes." Jim got to his feet. "I'm going to get myself some lunch, go change clothes, and head out to Daly City and the old widow."

"Well, good luck. I hope she has something interesting to tell you… something that she didn't tell the police. By the way Jim, the copies of my sketches of my newfound friends should be available by now. Or perhaps I should say Theo's friends. The colonel will have delivered them to the police to be distributed to the officers."

"Good. I'll get copies on my way to visit the widow. Don't be surprised if I don't get back to visit you again tonight, Artie. I don't know how long I'll be out there."

Artemus waved a forgiving hand. "I know. Don't worry. The prettiest nurses here are the night nurses. I won't be lonely."

Jim winked as he exited. Artemus Gordon heaved a great sigh, winced, laying his head back on the pillow. _I hate this. I should be out there helping Jim with this investigation. I will be, soon, but even I know I probably need one more good night of rest. I'm sure I'll be able to get out of here tomorrow, regardless of what the doctor says. Or even Jim says. Jim shouldn't have to deal with flirtatious young wives and old widows all by himself!_

W*W*W*W*W

Beauty is a terrible and awful thing!

It is terrible because it has not been fathomed,

For God sets us nothing but riddles.

_The Brothers Karamazov [1879-1880], bk. III, ch. 3 _

— Fëdor Mikhailovich Dostoevski (1821-1881)

At first Jim had to control the sleek black horse with a firm hand. After several days in the stable behind the hotel, with his only exercise in the small corral, the stallion wanted to run. In the city, keeping a steady pace was important. Once they reached the outer edges of the city, heading south, Jim allowed his steed to vent its energy for a short distance, then pulled him back to a ground-eating lope. For one thing, he did not want to arrive at the Kingston home on a lathered horse, with himself being dusty. The old widow might not appreciate him bringing road dust into her fine parlor.

He had gotten directions to the Kingston estate from Lloyd Morris, who had visited there with the lead detective on the case at the time of the murder a year ago. Jim noticed a number of large homes with expansive, well landscaped yards, most of them behind wrought-iron or stone fences. He had also learned that Kingston purchased the property in this upscale neighborhood just three years ago, after a successful investment.

They had had no reason to disbelieve anything the widow told them at the time. Although the police delved into Kingston's financial dealings to some extent, they were hampered by the fact that few records existed. Mrs. Kingston had told the police that her husband kept figures in his head, wrote little down beyond his deposits and withdrawals from the bank where he kept his funds.

The Kingston estate was easy to spot. The gate was topped by an arc in which the words "Kingston Hall" were spelled out in wrought iron, with a crown at either end. Jim was not surprised to note an iron gate, but he was bemused to see the sentry waiting in a small guardhouse beside it. As he slowed his horse, a stocky man stepped out.

"My names is James West," Jim said quietly. "Mrs. Kingston is expecting me."

Wordless, the man went to the padlocked chain that secured the two sides of the gate, pulling a ring of keys from his belt. As he did so, Jim saw the shape of a holstered pistol under his heavy shirt. An armed guard. Was the old widow a nervous sort, perhaps now fearing that whoever killed her husband would come after her? Jim wished he had been able to talk to the detective who had been in charge of the Kingston case, but that man had taken ill and died a few months ago. Only his written reports, and the less exact memories of peripheral officers, like Morris, were available.

With a nod of thanks to the guard, Jim urged the black horse through the opened portal, up a stoned driveway toward the massive house. He did know that the Kingstons were childless. Just the two of them—with servants—in this huge building. And now the widow alone. He saw a turret on each of the four corners, gleaming windows and even stone gargoyles. The grounds were extensive, but did not seem to be well cared-for. Rose bushes were rambling over pathways. Trees, mostly oak and pine badly in need of trimming, had dropped leaves and needles, creating a covering that smothered most of what might have once been a lawn.

Jim dismounted and tied the black's reins to an enameled iron post that needed painting, and stepped up onto the broad porch, noticing how boards creaked under his boots. The exterior certainly needed some upkeep. Perhaps the old lady had lost interest after the death of her husband. At the double doors, he lifted and dropped the bronze doorknocker in the shape of a stag's head twice. After waiting what seemed like several minutes, he was about to knock again, when the door opened.

A man in smart butler's livery stood there. "Mr. West?"

Jim pulled off his hat. "Yes."

The butler stepped back to allow him to come inside. "Please wait here, sir. I'll tell Mrs. Kingston of your arrival." Closing the door, he took Jim's hat, hung it on a nearby hall tree, then walked swiftly down the hall, disappearing through a doorway.

Jim glanced around. The dilapidated state of the exterior did not carry over to the interior. The parquet floor of the entryway gleamed, a bowl of fresh flowers was on a well polished table nearby. The brass fittings of wall sconces were equally polished.

The butler reappeared at the doorway, and bowed slightly toward Jim, who strode toward him. The servant moved to one side, and James West thought he had never been so surprised—or stunned—in his life. As he entered the room, a lovely well furnished and tastefully decorated small parlor, a woman rose from a sofa.

_This can't the widow!_ That thought rushed through his brain as he gazed upon perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered. She was in her mid to late twenties, he thought, with stylishly coifed jet black hair and eyes that were somewhere between blue and lavender. She wore a dark gray gown trimmed in soft lace, suitable for a widow in the latter stages of mourning. _But this can't be the widow!_

She held out a slender, pale hand bedecked with an exquisite jade ring, the green stone carved to resemble a hibiscus. "Mr. West? Welcome to Kingston Hall. I am Beryl Kingston."

Jim West gathered his aplomb. He had never seen such perfect features, graced with a clear alabaster complexion that enhanced the dark hair and eyes. Lips were sensuous, but not too much so. He saw tiny diamonds in the lobes of perfectly shaped ears. Many an actress or dancer would die for a figure like Beryl Kingston's.

"How do you do, Mrs. Kingston. Please forgive this intrusion."

"Not at all," she smiled, and Jim saw her eyes sweep over him. He was accustomed to being admired by women, but somehow this was jarring. Different from the gaze he had received earlier today from Mrs. Condit. Beryl Kingston's appraisal was somehow… singular. Unusual. Yet he could not quite decide what he saw in the lavender eyes. Or were they blue? The light from the French windows that appeared to open onto an overgrown garden was not quite sufficient to determine their shade.

Mrs. Kingston waved him to a chair as she took her seat on the sofa again. "Can I offer you refreshment? Coffee? Tea? Brandy?"

"A glass of cold water first would be much appreciated. It was a long dusty ride. Then perhaps coffee if it's not too much trouble." He thought it would be a good idea to keep his senses clear during this visit.

She reached over to pull a cord, and the butler appeared almost instantly, leading Jim to believe he had been lingering outside the door. Mrs. Kingston instructed him to bring coffee, and a tumbler of water. Then she turned to Jim. "I understand from your note that you are a government agent, Mr. West, and that you are investigating my husband's murder. Can you tell me why a government man would become involved?" Her voice was silk and fog at the same time.

"We believe that your husband's death may be connected with the murder of a federal attorney."

"Oh! I remember reading about that incident in the newspaper sometime ago. But I recall that the police thought he was a victim of revenge."

"That was the original belief," Jim concurred, then paused as the butler appeared with a tray bearing a silver carafe, delicate cups, a plate of frosted cookies, and a wine goblet filled with water. The speed of the delivery also indicated it had been anticipated. Jim accepted the water, drank deeply, then took a cup of coffee, refusing the offer of cream and sugar, noticing that Mrs. Kingston added the supplements liberally.

"Go on, Mr. West," she said then. "What caused the police… and you… to change your minds about the attorney's death?"

"A number of things." Jim took a sip of the coffee and put the cup back on the saucer resting on the polished table beside his chair. "Do you know the name Theo Gaskin?"

If the question startled her in any manner, she gave no sign, only frowning slightly. "Yes… but I can't think of why. Who is he?"

Jim chose his words carefully. He did not entirely understand why, but he felt the need to be cautious. "He sometimes works as a handyman."

The incredible eyes widened, long dark lashes arcing toward the perfect brows. "Why, of course! He was employed on the grounds here around the time of my husband's… death."

"Who hired him?"

"Why… my husband of course. He attended to such things."

Was that the reason for the condition of the grounds? She had no interest in landscaping, but focused her attention on the beauty of the interior. "Do you remember what happened to Gaskin? Was he dismissed?"

Beryl Kingston shook her head slowly, her lovely mouth again forming a frown. "I'm afraid I have no idea. I can't even remember what he looked like. I knew the name because I heard it mentioned once or twice, perhaps when my husband was giving instructions to the head gardener about the care of the grounds."

"May I speak to the head gardener?"

She waved her hand, the green jade gleaming briefly. "I let him go ages ago. I just didn't have time, while settling my husband's affairs, to worry about the grounds." Now she laughed. "I'm sure you noticed."

"I did wonder."

Beryl Kingston sighed. "My husband would be appalled. He was very proud of the gardens. But they never meant that much to me."

"Were you married long before his death?" Odd that she never mentioned her husband by his given name, or even "Mr. Kingston." Always "my husband."

"Three years. Three very happy years. I'm sure you are aware he was a great deal older than me. But he was a wonderful, kind man and I loved him dearly."

"I'm sure you did," Jim murmured, picking up his coffee cup again. "Have you any idea where I might find the former head gardener?"

"I'm afraid not."

"I thought perhaps he might have asked you for references when he applied for a new position."

"No… I can't remember that he did. Of course, I would have been a poor reference. I could have said 'the grounds were lovely,' but really nothing about his personal endeavors."

"Do you recall his name?"

"I can tell you that. Hernando Perez. Mr. West, you still haven't explained why you think my husband's death is connected with that of the poor attorney. What did this Theo… what was his last name?"

"Gaskin."

"Theo Gaskin. What did he have to do with it? Surely, he did not kill my husband! I believe the police talked to all the employees here and all could account for their time."

"That's very true," Jim replied. "Are there any of your servants here now who were employed at the time of Mr. Kingston's death?"

The flash in her eyes revealed her awareness of his evasiveness. "My butler, Chase. He was…"

Her words were interrupted by the opening of the door. The man who entered was probably in his late thirties, a handsome man of stocky build with a neatly trimmed brown beard and hair of a similar shade slicked back from his high forehead. Beryl Kingston came to her feet swiftly, Jim rose more slowly.

"Harry!" Mrs. Kingston exclaimed, going toward him with an extended hand. "I didn't expect you today. I didn't know you had returned."

"And I didn't know you had a guest, Beryl. Forgive my intrusion." He took her hand, and Jim had the impression that if not for the presence a witness, he would have kissed it.

"Harry, this is Mr. James West, a government agent. He's reopening the investigation of the murder of my husband. Isn't that wonderful? Perhaps the culprit will finally be found. Mr. West, my attorney, Mr. Harrison Hazeltine."

Jim held out his hand. "Mr. Hazeltine."

The lawyer shook the hand. "James West. Your reputation precedes you. Beryl, if anyone can find Gerald's killer, Mr. West can."

"Thank you. I'll do my best." Jim turned to the lovely woman. "Mrs. Kingston, I won't trouble you any further today, but I hope you don't mind if I return. I may come up with more questions you can help me with."

Her hand rested on his wrist. "I would be highly disappointed if you did _not_ return, Mr. West. Please do. And it won't be necessary to wait for an invitation. You will always be welcome."

"Thank you." Jim did not need to look at the lawyer to know that the man was annoyed. The widow's invitation was as blatant as had been Mrs. Condit's. "I'll see myself out." He left the room before either could speak.

W*W*W*W*W

"I didn't expect to see you here tonight." Artemus carefully pulled himself up against the pillows.

Jim West turned the single chair around and straddled it. "Don't let this go to your head, but I'm finding I miss you."

"Why, James!"

Jim grinned briefly. "As a sounding board, pal. I wanted to talk about a couple of things. One is that I picked up the copies of your sketches before I went to see the widow, but didn't take time to look at them until on the way back to the city when I stopped at an inn for a meal. One of the men you sketched is the man I saw leaving the same door that Condit's secretary entered with the envelope."

"Interesting! You didn't mention what that door led into."

"Another office building. None of the names on the directory rang a bell, especially none on the first floor. The secretary was in and out so fast, he wouldn't have had time to go to another floor. I'm going to ask Lloyd to tell me what he knows about the first floor tenants."

"Brilliant deduction. Now tell me about the grieving old lady."

Jim folded his arms over the back of the chair and rested his chin on them. "She's neither grieving, nor old."

"Indeed!"

"Artie, she's probably the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Artemus's eyes widened. "That's saying something, considering the women we've met over the years."

"She's… it's difficult to describe. Black hair, blue… no maybe lavender… eyes, perfect complexion, exquisite figure, a voice that…" He stopped, lifting his head and staring toward the window.

Artemus was silent a long moment before he spoke. "Yet, you've discerned a flaw."

Jim looked at his partner. "That's just it. I feel… damn, I can't explain it."

"Don't tell me she didn't flirt with you!"

"Oh, she did. I have another invitation to visit anytime."

"Of course. But…"

Jim West exhaled a noisy sigh. "I'm going to see what I can find out about Beryl Kingston. Maybe… maybe it's simply her perfection that's setting me on edge. Not to mention she has an armed sentry installed at her front gate, in a regular guardhouse."

"Really! Nervous about intruders now that she lives alone?"

"That occurred to me… until I met her. Not sure what it means. Virtually all the estates there have fences and gates—probably locked—but I didn't see a guard at any of them. I'd like to find out whether the guardhouse was present when Gerald Kingston was alive. I may look up the local constable next time I'm in that area."

Artie decided to shift the subject a bit. "Did Mrs. Kingston offer much help regarding Theo?"

"No. She remembered the name but that was all. That's another odd thing. The interior of the house is beautiful, well kept, expensive… but the grounds are a mess. She said her husband was very proud of his gardens, yet when he died, she let them go to seed… all the while avowing her love for him."

"Well, that's a little strange. One would think she'd keep them up in his memory if for no other reason."

"That's what I thought. Just before I left, a man named Harrison Hazeltine showed up. He was introduced as her attorney, but he most certainly did not like seeing me there with her."

"Another name to check."

"What does the doctor say about your situation, Artie? Any word on when you'll be released?"

Aware that Jim might well speak to the physician, or the nurses, Artemus answered the question truthfully. "Maybe not for two-three days. My ribs are pretty sore." No one except the pretty blonde nurse knew that he had been out of bed today, tentatively moving about the room. She scolded him but Artie was pretty sure he had persuaded her not to tell the doctor, lest he get into trouble.

"All right. Listen to the doctor, pal. You'll be better off for it in the long run. You took a bad beating. At least you're looking better."

"Yeah, the ice packs on my face help. I want to be my normal handsome self when I present myself to the world."

Jim chuckled, getting to his feet. "Yeah, you don't want to scare the kiddies any more than usual."

Artie made a face, then asked. "What's on the docket next?"

"I'm pretty tired. I'm going to stop by the police station and if Lloyd has gone home, leave him a note to look up anything they have on the lovely Beryl and her jealous attorney. Also want to find a former gardener at the Kingston estate, name of Hernando Perez. He should have known Gaskin. Then I'm going to my hotel room and sleep for about twenty-four hours."

His partner only smiled. "See you bright and early, James."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

If the desire to kill and the opportunity to kill came

always together, who would escape hanging?

—Mark Twain, American author (1835-1910)

Jim was glad to find the hostler still available at the hotel's stable. The burly black man liked to talk, and he also liked horses. Hector Smith knew horses as well and told Jim West over and over what a fine steed Blackjack was. Jim did not mind hearing the praise, for he shared the opinion, but tonight he was too tired to stay and chat for long.

The night was dark because the usual San Francisco summer fog had covered the moon. A lantern at the rear door of the hotel guided him as he strode the path away from the stable. That bed was sounding better and better, though Jim knew he was going to have to shut down his thoughts about the current situation, especially those about the strange but beautiful widow, in order to have a good night's sleep.

A sharp intake of breath was the first and only warning he received. Spinning to his left, Jim threw up his left arm as the shadowy figure started to bring a club of some sort toward his head. With the right arm, he rammed his fist into the man's midsection. Expelling a loud "oof!" his assailant stumbled backwards, dropping the bludgeon, which clattered on the stone covered pathway.

A muttered curse from the other side of the path alerted Jim that the club-wielder was not alone. He whirled to confront the second man, who appeared to be trying to withdraw a weapon or something from inside his coat. This fellow received a hard left to the chin and a similar right fist to his stomach. He too staggered backward.

Jim jumped back, his gaze darting around in the darkness in order to determine if these two were the only ones. The first man was getting to his feet, and appeared ready to rejoin the fray, but just then Hector Smith emerged from the stables, holding a lantern high and yelling out a query as to what was going on.

Both assailants took off then, running toward the alley that would lead them alongside the hotel and out to the street. Jim briefly considered pursuing, but held off. Just a couple of mugs, undoubtedly after his wallet.

"What's going on, Mr. West?" Smith asked, coming nearer. "You all right, sir?"

"I'm fine," Jim replied. If the one man had not drawn in a noisy breath prior to bringing the club down on his head, the story might be different.

"Want me to get a police officer?"

"No. It's okay. What's that?" Jim had been about to pick up the heavy wooden stick when he noticed something just out of the sphere of the lantern's glow.

The hostler saw what he meant and stepped over, bending down to pick it up. "Why it's some rope, Mr. West. They must have dropped it. Wasn't here earlier, and it ain't something I have in the stable. Too light."

Jim took the coil of rope from him, a slight chill crawling down his spine. Too light to use on a horse, but perfect for binding a man's wrists. _Not just mugs after my money. They were after me! _He handed the rope back. "Do me a favor, Mr. Smith, and don't mention this to anyone. And put that rope in a safe place. I may want to look at it again."

"Sure thing, Mr. West. You think they followed you here? I was outside just a while ago, and they wasn't around then, I'd bet my bottom dollar."

"Could be. Thanks for coming out and scaring them off."

The stableman grinned. "Looked to me you were doing a pretty good job of that. Glad they didn't hurt you. Good night."

His room was on the third floor at the front, and before lighting the gas lamps, Jim went to the window to carefully survey the street down below. The hour was relatively early, though dark, and some foot and carriage traffic was still visible. The encounter with the two men had occurred so rapidly, and in such darkness, he knew he probably would not recognize either even if they walked up to him in full daylight.

After drawing the drapes over the window, Jim ignited one of the lamps in the wall sconce, keeping it burning low as he stripped and readied for bed, his movements automatic, mind filled not with the widow, as he had expected, but with this encounter. The possibility existed that despite what Hector Smith said, the rope had been there earlier, dropped by someone else. Jim knew, nevertheless, that that was not the case. The two men had brought the rope to use on _him._

What did it mean? Laying in bed, arms behind his head, Jim stared at the ceiling. Pale slits of light from the lampposts on the street below slipped through the edges of the drapes and created patterns on the darkened ceiling, but he was not really seeing them.

_Someone doesn't like the idea that I'm investigating these murders. Or a murder. Which one? _Thus far he had questioned people about two of them. Word could also have gotten out that he was also looking into others, but Jim sensed that the attack was related to either the Kingston or Moffitt murders… or both.

Condit had sent his secretary out with a message immediately after the agent had left his office. To warn that someone about the investigation? Had that someone instigated tonight's attack? Why? Killing—or kidnapping—the man heading the investigation would not stop the query, and would probably intensify it.

This had all started, apparently, because Artemus Gordon, master of disguise, had inadvertently chosen a face that those four men who attacked him thought they recognized as Theo Gaskin. Theo Gaskin was somehow involved in several murders, even if he did not commit them himself. Was the surmise correct that Gaskin took employment with potential victims in order to help set up certain men for death?

If that was the case, who was Gaskin's other employer, the one who sent him to obtain positions with these marked men? It truly sounded as though one man—or agency—was involved in all these murders. Four killings so far, including the one in Sacramento. How many more?

Jim West sat up, the coverings falling away from his chest and shoulders as he drew his legs up and rested his arms on his knees, again not truly seeing what his gaze appeared to be aimed toward. _Murder for hire. Is that possible? I've heard of such organizations in the east, in bigger cities… never in San Francisco. _Had Artie's unintended ploy, meant to help him look inauspicious and unsuspected while he listened to saloon gossip, led them into an horrific situation, a crime ring responsible for untold murders? A cabal that not even the police suspected?

The three murders in San Francisco—at least the three he was currently looking into—had all been committed differently, though robbery was involved in two. Jim knew that such deaths were not that uncommon. A victim who resisted a theft attempt, such as was believed in the case of Abel Moffitt, might be injured or killed by a desperate thief. Gerald Kingston had been robbed in his office, but the police wondered if the theft of some small items had been after the fact, and he had been murdered for some other motive.

And of course, Alex Byram had been shot down in the street by assailant unknown. No robbery there, leading to the police believing the motive was vengeance. Maybe getting the information from Mrs. Byram about Gaskin was just as important now as he originally believed, to make certain there was a tie-in. What news would be coming in from other officials around the state regarding unsolved murders and Theo Gaskin?

W*W*W*W*W

"You don't look like you got two hours of sleep, let alone twenty-four," Artemus commented as his partner entered the hospital room.

Jim West tossed his hat on the foot of the bed and slouched in the chair, extending his legs. "Make it more like one hour."

Artie straightened slightly. "What happened?"

Tersely, Jim told him of the assault, and of the theories and ideas that kept him awake for most of the night. "I couldn't stop thinking about it," he sighed.

"That settles it." Artemus threw his blankets aside. "I'm getting out of here. You're not doing this alone." He had planned to abscond from the hospital today anyway.

Jim jumped to his feet. "Hold on. The doctor hasn't released you. And you're still hurting."

Artie knew he had not disguised the sudden spasm of pain his quick movement had caused. "I can deal with it. Jim, this is a dangerous man—or gang—you're dealing with." He sat on the edge of the bed, bare legs dangling.

"I think I am aware of that, partner. But I _can_ deal with them. It's nothing new. And you wouldn't be of much help to me in your condition. Besides, if the colonel heard you left the hospital before official dismissal…"

Artie sighed and carefully slid back onto the pillows, putting on a great show of resignation. _Once I'm out of here and can prove to one and all I'm not an invalid, they won't send me back. For now, Jim has enough his mind._ "All right. What's next?"

Jim reached into an inside coat pocket and withdrew a yellow envelope. "Forgot about this. It was waiting for me at the hotel desk this morning. Apparently came late yesterday, but I didn't check in at the desk when I came in last night."

Artemus extracted the folded paper, opened it. "No surprise there. So good friend Theo was doing some odd jobs at the Byram home just days before Alex's murder."

"He apparently was not there the day of the murder, and perhaps not a couple of days prior, so the police had no reason to question him."

"Must have been able to get a good lead on Byram's schedule and movements pretty easily. Have you shown this to Richmond?"

"No. The desk clerk said he hadn't come down yet. I'm going back to the hotel now to try to talk to him, then to the police station to see if Lloyd came up with anything on Mrs. Kingston and Harry Hazeltine."

"And then?" Artie could see that Jim had more to say, yet had hesitated.

"I think I'll ride out to Daly City again to visit the lovely widow. She did invite me, after all."

Artemus frowned. "You're thinking she might have paid to have her husband murdered?"

"I'm thinking that someone did. I'd like to find out how long Hazeltine has been in the picture."

"I wish you'd wait until I can go with you."

"Artemus," Jim responded dryly, "I think I can handle myself around the ladies."

"Yeah. But sometimes they handle _you_!" Too many times a pretty face and shapely form had led James West into difficulty.

Jim just laughed, picking up his hat. "I'll report back this evening. In the meantime, behave yourself with the nurses and listen to the doctor."

Artemus Gordon sat still, staring at the closed door. _That tears it. I'm getting out of here for certain. The doctor will be in to check on me in a couple of hours. Even if he says no, I'm leaving. This is too big for Jim to handle alone_. A murder-for-hire cabal that had apparently been operating undetected for a number of years was nothing to sneeze at.

The part about the rope seemingly brought by the men who jumped Jim last night was bone-chilling. Even though Jim sloughed it off, saying that he was not convinced the rope belonged to the attackers despite what the hostler said, Artemus was all but certain that those men had intended to carry Jim West off, unconscious and trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. But to where and why?

His room door opened and the pretty blonde nurse poked her head in. "Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Gordon?"

He grinned and winked. "Yes, but I doubt the hospital would allow it."

Her cheeks flushed. "Oh, Mr. Gordon!" It was not the first time he had teased her. Though the cheeks remained rosy, she regained some decorum. "Dr. Fifield is making his rounds and will be in to check you soon."

"Thank you." Artemus smiled as the door closed. _In that case, one way or another, I'm going to get out of here earlier than I expected._

W*W*W*W*W

"This is bizarre, Jim."

Jim West paused in his pacing around Colonel Richmond's room. "I know it is. I'm going to talk to the police next. I'm sure they have no inkling that this has been occurring, or it would have been mentioned to me. But perhaps once the subject is broached, some officers will be prompted to remember things they thought unimportant at the time."

"Possible. Very possible. But Jim, it's obvious they are onto you and your investigations… and you have them worried." Richmond was seated in the room's sole chair, leaning forward, elbows on knees.

"Yes, sir. I'm aware of that, and I'll be extra alert. But it's not going to stop me from finding out who beat up Artie… and killed your friend Alex." He added the last for effect, and saw that it registered. He also saw that his superior knew why he had appended the comment. Richmond was no fool.

"Not to mention several other men," the colonel replied. "I wonder how far this goes. Just California? The entire West Coast? Further east…?"

Jim shook his head. "We won't know until it's cracked. I'm going to go talk to Sergeant Morris and other policemen, get them further involved. It's possible they've received information on Theo Gaskin's activities and whereabouts."

Richmond rubbed his chin. "I wish I had other agents free to call in. Pike and Harper are still busy with that counterfeiting ring in the Arizona Territory, and I have half a dozen men assigned to them. Perhaps I should pull some of them away…"

Jim shook his head. "They wouldn't be able to get here for nearly a week. I hope by then we are much closer to solving this. If we're not, extra help probably won't be much use."

"True enough. Although if we haven't closed this one by the time Pike is free, we could have him come in and noise it around that he has someone he wants assassinated."

"Yeah. True. If Artie was well, he might be able to do that too."

"But Artemus isn't well. The doctor told me that that cracked rib is severe, not quite broken through, but could be if Gordon got into, say, a fracas."

"Exactly. I warned him to stay in bed." _Yet there was something in Artie's eyes this morning…_ "Maybe you should go visit and make it an order."

"I'll do just that. However, in my experience, both you and Mr. Gordon are not exactly sticklers for following orders."

"We do get results."

Richmond sighed. "Yes, you do get results." He stood up. "I'll go talk to Artemus, make sure he understands he has to stay in bed until the doctor releases him, or there will be consequences. Then I may contact Pike and Harper to see how their job is progressing and if either of them is available to help out here. I don't want to jeopardize their work down there, but this is important. Lives are at stake."

"Maybe mine," Jim quipped, drawing a resigned shake of the head from his boss.

W*W*W*W*W

"What the devil do you think you're doing?"

Artemus Gordon had heard the door to his hotel room open, but he kept his back to it, continuing to load the pistol he had taken from the bureau drawer. Now he looked around at his superior, who was standing with arms akimbo, glaring. "You didn't bring any weapons with the change of clothing you dropped off at the hospital. I didn't think it would be a good idea for me to go about unarmed."

Richmond slammed the door shut, taking a few steps into the room. "I went to the hospital to visit you… and found your bed empty. The doctor did _not_ dismiss you, Gordon."

Artie carefully inserted the shiny pistol into his shoulder holster, then picked up the jacket he had tossed on the bed and began to put extra ammunition in the pockets. "I'm fine, Colonel. I can't lay in bed while Jim is in danger."

The colonel's expression softened ever so slightly. "He told you about the attack on him last night."

"Yes, sir." Now Gordon gingerly pulled the jacket on, trying to not display any of the pangs the movement was causing in his ribs and stomach area. "The fact that they apparently planned to kidnap him is scarier than a straight attempt to kill him as far as I'm concerned."

"I agree. It's also very strange. _Why_ would they want to capture him?"

Artemus could only shake his head. "We might not know that until we do some capturing ourselves. Which is why I have to be out there, Colonel. Jim told me that he hasn't had time to delve into Kingston's financial affairs. After what he told me about the widow, I have an idea that might be important."

"You're thinking she might have arranged to have her husband killed for his money?"

"If not for what he owned at the time, perhaps insurance money. Kingston was a speculator, as I understand it. A successful one… at least for awhile. Suppose his luck turned, and he was telling his lovely young wife that they were going to have to cut back, perhaps sell this mansion Jim visited. She might not have liked that idea. Suppose he held a substantial insurance policy. I think that's worth investigating."

The colonel heaved a resigned sigh. "All right, Artemus. Confine yourself to relatively sedentary pursuits and I won't order you back to the hospital. I take it Jim is unaware that you are out of the hospital?"

Artie's smile was embarrassed. "I think he would have raised a larger to-do than you have. And I do appreciate your understanding. But Jim… well, he's like an old lady sometimes when it comes to worrying about me. At least now when he does find out, I'll be able to tell him I have your approval."

Richmond opened his mouth, closed it again. _Somehow these two always outmaneuver me! And as for Artemus calling Jim an "old lady" for worrying about him, that's like the pot calling the kettle black. I suppose that is part of what makes this pair such a fine team—they look out for each other._

"I might be able to get you some help in your investigation of Kingston's financial dealings," the colonel said then. "You undoubtedly remember Miss Collingwood."

Artemus's face brightened. "Indeed I do. A very… efficient young woman."

"Yes." Richmond's comment was dry. "She's in San Francisco to pick up some papers from the current federal attorney, but they aren't ready yet. So she's free. I can assign her to help you."

"Excellent. I shall greatly enjoy… working with Ellen again." Artemus forced his mind back to business. "Colonel, speaking of the federal attorney, you know, it's possible that the police's assumption that Alex Byram's death was motivated by revenge was not far off the mark."

Richmond nodded. "That occurred to me. In light of the suggestion that a murder-for-hire organization is active in all this, someone still could have arranged for Alex's death, while providing an airtight alibi for himself. That's going to need some further looking into."

"But first," Artie said grimly, "we have to get to the bottom of this cabal, find out who is running it, who are the participants. I'm thinking that the quartet who met me the other evening could be among them."

"I hope that the sketches that have been distributed will do some good there. If we can pick up one or two of those men, apply a little pressure…"

"A little pressure is often useful," Artie agreed. "Colonel, I think I'd better get busy. I'd like to have something to tell Jim when he returns from his visit with the poor widow today. I'm going to need to go talk to the police to get a little more information before I start making the rounds."

"I'll contact Ellen Collingwood and have her meet you at police headquarters."

W*W*W*W*W

The guard immediately stepped out of his cubicle to open the gate as the rider on the black horse approached. Jim nodded to him as he rode through toward the house, reflecting that Mrs. Kingston must have given some very specific instructions, for this was not the same man who had challenged him yesterday. Dismounting and tying off the reins, Jim stepped up onto the porch, not entirely surprised when the door opened before he had a chance to touch the brass knocker.

"Good day, Mr. West," the butler spoke formally as he accepted Jim's black hat. "Mrs. Kingston left instructions that should you call, I should show you to her directly. This way."

He led Jim to the same doorway as previously, tapped on it, opened it, then stepped aside. Beryl Kingston rose from the same sofa, a brilliant smile on her fabulously perfect countenance. "James! I mean, Mr. West. Forgive me."

Jim stepped inside and accepted the hand she extended. "I don't mind… if I may reciprocate."

She laughed, a musical tone. "Of course. I insist on it." She pulled him sit on the sofa alongside her, still keeping his hand in hers. Today she wore a deep lavender dress, again trimmed in lace, but displaying more of her collarbones than the previous one. The color of the gown all but confirmed that her eyes were the same shade. "What brings you back so soon?"

He smiled, going along with the coyness in her words and face. She was no stranger to flirting, though somehow the behavior had seemed alien to the personality he witnessed yesterday. "More questions, I'm afraid."

Before she could respond, a tap sounded on the door, and when she called, the butler appeared. "Madam, you asked to be reminded when luncheon was ready."

"Oh yes. I'm having a late meal today, James. I was very busy this morning. Chase, have another place set. I know Mr. West will join me."

"I'd be delighted," he responded in answer to the question in her eyes. "I would like to wash up after that long ride."

"Oh, of course. Chase, take Mr. West up to the guest room and provide hot water. I'll go instruct Georgia about the guest. I'll see you in the dining room, James." With a warm smile and a coquettish flutter of her dark lashes, she briefly lifted his hand, touched her lips to it, then released it as she departed.

"This way, sir."

Jim followed the butler up the broad, curving staircase, to the second floor where he was escorted to a room at the end of the hall. Chase said he would return in a moment with water. Alone in the room, Jim took the opportunity to go look out the window, where the view was the rear of the house. He saw the same unkempt landscaping, but also several buildings, including what appeared to be a stable with an attached corral. Seven or eight horses were in the enclosure.

He had stopped in the town of Daly City, hoping to talk to the local law, only to be told that the constable had gone up to Oakland to testify at a trial, and would not be back until at least tomorrow, if not longer. The constable was the sole law officer, with not even a deputy. Maybe he could try to talk to a neighbor or two about the Kingston couple.

When Chase returned with a steaming pitcher of water, Jim was rolling up his sleeves, after removing his jacket, then the sleeve-gun harness, placing it on the bed and laying his jacket over it. The butler told him that the dining room was the door next to the parlor, and he should come down as soon as he was ready.

As he washed, Jim considered Beryl Kingston's demeanor today. Much warmer than yesterday when, although her gaze had reflected admiration, she had not really flirted with him until he was preparing to leave, after the arrival of the attorney. He would have said she flirted as a ploy to make Hazeltine jealous, except that man was not present today.

Drying off, Jim donned the gun harness again and his jacket, and made his way downstairs. _Be nice to have an opportunity to nose around, but I don't see how. Not right now anyway._ Depending on how, and how far, the relationship developed, perhaps the opportunity would arise.

The dining room was small, although as well furnished as the parlor, with a blue and white crystal chandelier over the table. Jim suspected this was the "family" eating area and that the house contained a larger room suitable for entertaining numbers of guests. Beryl Kingston was there waiting for him, and she led him to the chair that put him alongside her as she seated herself—with Chase's assistance—at the head of the oblong table.

A stony-faced middle-aged woman arrived moments later with a tray bearing two steaming bowls of soup, which she placed before each of them and left as silently as she entered. Beryl picked up her spoon. "Oh, Essie's wonderful oyster soup. It… something wrong, James?"

He had deliberately frowned, now he looked at her with a rueful expression. "I can't eat oysters, I'm afraid. They don't agree with my… digestive system."

"Oh dear! Then we'll skip the soup." Beryl reached over to pick up a small silver bell and ring it. Chase appeared instantly, and was instructed, without explanation, to remove the soup and bring the next course. "I have heard of people who have reactions against certain foods. I don't think I've ever met one. I'm so sorry, James. The soup is really superb."

"I'm sorry, too. It actually smelled quite good." And it had. He had not eaten since an early breakfast, and had not expected to eat until he left here and headed back to the city. Oysters were actually one of his favorite seafood, but long experience dictated a certain caution.

Chase served the next course, bringing in a platter of veal chops, a bowl of boiled small potatoes, delicately herbed, and another bowl containing brilliant green beans. Because Beryl allowed him to serve himself, and to do so before she made her selections, Jim West relaxed to enjoy the meal. If one or more of the chops, say, was adulterated, she would have selected first, leaving the drugged meat for him.

Again, he could not explain, nor shake, the sense that he needed to be on guard in this house at all times. Not enough information was available yet. All could be exactly what it seemed, that Beryl Kingston was a young widow of an older man who had been cruelly murdered for reasons bearing no relation to her. His instincts told him otherwise. Perhaps her only involvement was that she paid to have her husband killed… and that would be bad enough. Still, he felt more was boiling under the surface.

The conversation during the meal was light. Beryl told him that she had been living with an elderly cousin in Seattle when she met Gerald Kingston. She had been instantly captivated, despite the variance in their ages, and soon came to realize he felt the same. "Of course, there were doubts and objections. But when you come to know me better, James, you'll learn that I do not allow such obstacles to deter me from what I want."

Jim smiled as he buttered a soft roll. "I can believe that."

"And you, there must be a special woman waiting for you somewhere."

"If there is, I haven't met her yet." _Not entirely true, but I'm not going to tell her about Cinnia._

Beryl's lustrous lashes fluttered. "Well, you're young. It can still happen."

He gazed directly at her. "I hope so." Jim wondered if he was correct when he seemed to see triumph in her eyes at that moment, as though she felt she was winning something.

Jim refused dessert, a creamy flan, for the same reason he had rejected the soup: the servings were brought from the kitchen in separate bowls. As an excuse he simply told Beryl he had no room for more food. She seemed to accept it, and left hers on the table, taking his arm to guide him out to the broad front porch. At one end, shaded by a wildly overgrown rose on a lattice, were some tables and chairs. As they seated themselves, Chase appeared with coffee. He put the tray on a table and retreated.

"I love this time of the afternoon," Beryl Kingston sighed as she poured the coffee. "See how the sun shines through the trees? When I was a child I was certain I could run out and seize the rays, and so disappointed when I could not."

Jim accepted the cup of coffee, placed it on the arm of his chair. "I hate to break the mood, but I am here on official business."

She laughed. "Of course. Ask your questions, James. I hope I can help you, though I don't know how."

"Do you know much of your husband's business matters?"

Beryl shook her head ruefully. "It wasn't that I was not interested. But every time I attempted to discuss his business affairs, Gerald would pat my hand and tell me not to worry my pretty head. I so regret that I did not press him. It was quite confusing at first after he… died."

_So he's "Gerald" today and not just "my husband."_ "I presume you received some assistance in sorting things out."

"Yes, Harry. Mr. Hazeltine. He had been Gerald's friend and attorney for several years." She laughed lightly. "Seems he did not entirely approve of Gerald's methods of making money, but because Gerald was so successful, he could not protest too strongly. But he helped me divest myself of some of the shakier ventures, and invest the money much more safely. Then of course there was the insurance."

"So Mr. Kingston was wise—and thoughtful—enough to buy a generous policy?"

"More than generous. He had told me that his life was insured, that he thought it only right due to the difference in our ages. But I had _no_ idea! One hundred thousand dollars! Harry can tell you, I nearly fainted when I learned of it."

"I imagine that with this house, you are pretty comfortable for the remainder of your life."

"Yes. Harry has helped me there as well. He invested it, and I receive some nice dividends. Oh dear." A frown shadowed her pretty face as she stared out off the porch. "I really should do something about the grounds. I just—I've never been much of a nature person. I enjoy sunbeams, but I can enjoy them while inside if they shine through a window!"

_Considering her porcelain white complexion, I can believe that._ "Back to Mr. Kingston's murder, I'm certain the police asked you if he had any enemies."

"Oh yes. I told them I'm sure he did. After all, what successful businessman doesn't? Gerald was never devious, or crooked, but he was shrewd. If he had an investment that needed more funds than he could provide, he offered acquaintances the opportunity to join him. And of course, others, who did not receive the offer, were sometimes jealous, especially if the investment was successful, which it often was."

Jim sipped his coffee. Everything she said sounded genuine, sincere. _I'm not going to learn much from her, that's obvious. Either it's all true, or she has rehearsed it well. _He decided to shift the subject again. "I was a little surprised when I encountered the guard at your gate."

"Oh. Oh, yes, I know. You're not the first visitor to say that. Gerald installed the guard shortly after we moved in. He said it was partly because of the valuables in the house—several of the paintings and other items are worth a great deal of money—but also due to those possible enemies we were just speaking about."

Jim frowned. "So your husband feared for his safety?"

"I'm not sure it was that so much," she said slowly. "I gave the police names that I knew, and they apparently checked them all. But I think Gerald feared… mischief."

"Mischief?"

"I told you how proud he was of the landscaping, the gardens. He was terribly afraid that someone, someone he had offended in some way, would, well, try to damage his gardens. You know, perhaps poison the roses or some such."

"I see." It made sense, yet in this case Jim West was certain she was lying. Something in her demeanor, the way she stared down at her coffee cup rather than gazing at him directly as she had been doing.

She brought her eyes up. "Oh, I hate having to talk about this on such a lovely day. Do we have to, James? Can't we just enjoy ourselves… enjoy each other?"

He sighed. "I'm a working man, Beryl. Business before pleasure, I'm afraid." He got to his feet. "I have to get back to the city."

She stood up, moving toward him. "Return later? For a late supper?"

"I'll try."

"Do try. Please." Beryl reached up both hands to pull his face down to hers.

W*W*W*W*W

"Jim! You look tired."

Jim pulled off his hat and sank into the chair opposite Lloyd Morris's desk. "I am tired. It's a long ride out to Daly City and back. Got any information for me?"

"Lots. Artemus picked up the folder. Said he'd meet you at the hotel later."

Jim West shot to his feet. "Artie! He's in the hospital."

Morris grinned, shaking his head. "Seems he checked himself out this morning. Also seems he has Colonel Richmond's blessing, because Richmond sent a young woman to meet Artemus here to help him."

Jim raked his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "I should have known." Artie could talk his way in or out of any situation. "Help him what?"

"He planned to look into Kingston's financial affairs. This Miss Collingwood was to assist him."

"Collingwood? Ellen Collingwood?"

"I think that was the name. Artemus knew her and was delighted to see her."

"I'll bet." Jim sat down again. "Any luck in finding Hernando Perez?"

The sergeant's face grew grim. "Hernando Perez was killed last night… apparently in a robbery attempt as he was on his way home from his job."

"I wonder…" Jim began.

"I wondered that too," Lloyd interjected. "Was he killed because the investigation has been reopened?"

"Damn," Jim muttered. "This is getting way too convoluted. Was there anything more about Theo in the papers Artie picked up?"

"Yeah. He has been connected with two more murders so far, one in Santa Barbara and the other one in Eureka. I've asked both places to send me full reports, but it'll take a few days."

"Santa Barbara, Eureka… opposite ends of the state. So it's not just a San Francisco operation."

"Seems that way. We have no idea yet if it extends beyond California… or how long it's been going on. How many unsolved murders—or even murders pinned on someone else—have occurred." The sergeant shook his head. "By the way, Artemus said to tell you he'd meet you at the hotel dining room around supper time."

"That was nice of him. He probably knows that in a public place I'll be less apt to murder him."

Morris chuckled. He knew the two agents well enough to be aware of the affection and camaraderie between them. Jim West was extremely concerned about his partner's health. "I will say that he looked in pretty good shape when he was here, Jim. The bruises on his face are barely visible."

"It's not his face I'm worried about. It's the cracked rib. Dr. Fifield said that any exertion, another blow, or a fall, say, could break it through… and it might pierce his lungs. He needed to remain quiet to allow it to heal more." Jim sighed and shook his head. Useless to fret about Artie. "Lloyd, I'd like to talk to the officers involved in the Perez murder."

Morris led him down a narrow dim hallway to a larger room where a number of lower-ranked detectives worked, and introduced him to the man who had been called to the scene, and who questioned witnesses. He did not have much to offer. The gardener had been found in an alley along the route he generally took on his way home. A widower, he had been living in a boarding house for the last couple of years. No one had seen or heard anything; or at least no one owned up to seeing or hearing anything.

Jim got the address of the boarding house, and rode his black horse to the clapboard house in the Mission district. The landlady was Mexican, with limited English. Jim wished Artemus was with him, but between his limited knowledge of Spanish and her English, he learned that Hernando Perez had been living in her home for a little over six months. She did not know anything about him other than he paid his rent on time and never complained about the meals. She had no idea where he had lived prior to coming there.

Jim decided that nearly half a year was missing between the time of Kingston's death and Perez being let go from the Kingston estate. Apparently Perez did not hold a steady job these last months, not like the one in Daly City with Kingston where he had been head gardener. The landlady believed he worked for numerous homes, and possibly businesses, around the city.

_It's just getting more and more complicated,_ he mused as he mounted the black and headed back toward the hotel. _Why kill the gardener? What did he know? Or what did someone fear he knew? _According to police reports from the time of Kingston's death, Perez had been at the estate in Daly City, far from the city. Perez, Gaskin, and another man who worked on the premises had been together playing poker.

_Just how deeply is Beryl Kingston involved in her husband's death?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Jealousy feeds upon suspicion, and it turns into fury or it ends

as soon as we pass from suspicion to certainty.

_Maxim 32_ – François, Duc de la Rochefoucauld (1623-1680)

"Hi Jim!" Artie greeted jauntily as his grim-faced partner approached the table. He had to admit he was glad Ellen Collingwood was at the table with him. If being in a public place did not give Jim pause, the presence of Richmond's former assistant might.

"Artie…"

"Jim, you remember Miss Collingwood, don't you? From the New Orleans job?"

Jim had been aware of the young woman peripherally, his attention centered on his partner. Now he turned. "Miss Collingwood, good to see you again."

She smiled, holding out her hand. "Thank you, Mr. West. It's been awhile."

Holding his temper in check, Jim pulled out the chair opposite his partner's and sat down. "Artemus…"

"Guess what, Jim? Ellen is engaged to be married. To Geoff Dunham, of all people."

"Artemus!" Ellen chided. "You make it sound as though Geoff is some sort of… I don't know what. A… a prig!" She glared at him.

Artie laughed. "Not at all, Ellen. We've known Geoff for quite some time, and always thought that the Washington attorney was a confirmed bachelor. But if anyone could melt a bachelor's hard heart, it's you, my dear. And perhaps that means there's hope for our James."

Jim gave up, for the moment. He had had a speech all planned to give his partner hell, but had not expected Ellen Collingwood to still be with him. The tirade was going to have to wait until later. Artie and Ellen had not ordered yet either, so a few moments were spent perusing menus, then talking to the waiter.

Finally Jim asked, "What did you turn up today?"

"Absolutely nothing," Artemus beamed.

"And why, if I dare ask, does that make you so happy?"

"Don't you see?" Ellen spoke up. "We could not find any indication that Gerald Kingston actually indulged in speculating, only very limited investments."

Jim's brow knit. "Then the money…"

"Came from another source," Artemus supplied smugly.

"Well, don't keep me waiting. What source?"

Artie's face fell. "That's the problem. We don't know. Jim, we visited every bank, every broker we could find. None had any record that Gerald Kingston had ever dealt with them. Two banks had accounts where Kingston—and now Mrs. Kingston—have deposited funds."

Jim West thought a moment. "Did you happen to get dates and amounts of those deposits, especially over the last two or three years?"

Artie blinked, and Ellen Collingwood gasped audibly. Artemus was the one who spoke. "Are you thinking those dates and amounts might coincide with murders? Blast it, Jim. _I'm_ the one who is supposed to think of such things, not you!"

"The beating must have rattled your brains," Jim replied, forbearing to smile, though he could not help but experience a little triumph that for once _he_ had been the one doing the thinking.

"Artemus told me about the beautiful young widow," Ellen spoke after the waiter served their soup. "Surely you don't think she's involved in this… this murder-for-hire scheme."

"I don't know," Jim admitted. "Not for certain. I mean, I have to believe if her husband was involved, she knew about it. But whether she took over after he was killed… I don't know." Yet the woman was different. Disconcerting. Her kiss today had been ardent, and tempting, as she tried to convince him to stay longer. He had told her he would try to return for that late supper, despite the length of the ride. At the time he had pretty much ruled such a journey out. Now…

"We can probably get a court order," Artie was saying, "if the banks don't want to turn over their records. But it occurs to me we need knowledge of murders that have occurred in the last year as well, to tie them to the widow."

"Yeah. Lloyd is still working on that. That reminds me, where are the papers he gave you?"

"Oh, I put them in my room. We can go over them later. Ellen has to leave after dinner. The report she is supposed to pick up is finally ready."

"And I'm catching an evening train," Ellen Collingwood smiled. "It will be nice to get back to Washington."

"And Geoff," Jim teased. She sparkled, but Jim noticed the scowl on his partner's face. "Give him my best. He's a lucky man."

They did not talk business during the remainder of the meal, discussing instead mutual acquaintances and reminiscing about the affair of the deranged opera singer they had encountered in New Orleans. Miss Collingwood had played a very courageous, and dangerous, part in that business. She had also spent a great deal of time in the company of Artemus Gordon, both during the investigation and afterwards, until all were summoned elsewhere by duty.

The dinner completed, Jim and Artie escorted Ellen Collingwood out to find a hack that would take her to the office building where she was to pick up the papers to deliver to Washington. Then the two men reentered the hotel. Jim did not speak until they were in the elevator.

"Artemus, you are going back to the hospital."

"And you and who else are going to make me?"

"Richmond will order you…"

"He already tried." Artie gazed at his partner's angry expression. He knew the reason for the anger. "Look, Jim, I'm fine. Really. I am still trussed up tighter than Aunt Maude's corset." He patted the thick wrappings under his shirt. "I plan to take it easy. I can do the legwork for you, like today. I won't even yield to great temptation to ride out and meet the Widow Kingston."

The elevator stopped on their floor and they stepped out, walking silently down the hall to Artemus's room. "I wish you could meet her," Jim admitted, sitting down on the chair while Artemus went to a bureau to extract a thick envelope. "She has to be one of the most enigmatic women I've ever met. One moment I'm sure she's a veritable black widow. The next… maybe I'll find out more tonight."

"Tonight! What do you mean?" Artemus stopped short, still holding the envelope.

"I have an invitation to a late supper."

"Good lord! You're not going! Jim, from what we've learned this far, the widow could be in it up to her lovely neck."

"But we don't know for certain. Spending a little time with her might be informative."

"And deadly. Don't forget, someone tried to kidnap you."

"I haven't forgotten. Let me see those reports. I take it Miss Collingwood was helpful today."

Artemus handed the envelope over, a scowl crossing his features. "Oh, yeah. She was a great help. She's a very smart young lady. Thought of some questions to ask that I missed. But…"

Jim looked up from the papers he had extracted from the envelope. "But what?"

"Jim, she's engaged!"

"So are you. At least last I heard."

"Yes, but…"

Jim West could not help but grin. "But your manly pride is injured. You imagined Ellen Collingwood was pining away for you all this time. Instead she was happily being courted by Geoff Dunham."

"Geoff Dunham! Jim, he's… he's…"

"I know. Dry as toast. But he's very intelligent, and you just said that Ellen is smart. Good pairing."

Artie sighed. "I suppose so." He sat down on the bed, the frown still on his face. "She said she's going to invite us to the wedding."

"Good. I hope we're free and can attend. Maybe you can bring Lily."

Artemus brightened. "Yes! Yes, that's true, isn't it."

Jim smiled inwardly as he concentrated on the papers in his hand. He knew his partner so very well. Artemus was now imagining the scenario when he presented _his_ beautiful fiancée, the famous actress Lily Fortune, to Miss Collingwood… just in case Ellen believed he had been pining away for _her!_

"Harry Hazeltine," he murmured, picking up the sheet of paper with that man's name at the top. He scanned it briefly, the looked up. "Not much there."

"I know. He was one of the first ones I pulled out to read. Respected attorney, although it seems he tends to take on risky cases."

"And wins them. In particular he seems adept at getting murder charges reduced to manslaughter."

Both men were silent for a long moment before Artemus spoke. "Such men might be almighty grateful to the lawyer who helps them avoid the noose."

Jim was nodding. "And when they were released after a few short years, they might come to find out how they can express their gratitude."

"However," Artemus sighed, "nothing indicates Hazeltine has any further connection with such men. At least not so far as the police know."

"San Francisco police wouldn't know what was going on at Kingston Hall. I wonder…"

"What?"

"The men I've seen in the sentry box. They look as though they can handle themselves."

"Jim," Artie said slowly, "I changed my mind. I'm going with you."

"With me? Where?" For a moment Jim did not know what his partner meant.

"To Kingston Hall of course. Yes, I know." Artie put up a hand to forestall the protests. "I know it's to be an assignation that you're going to use to pry deep dark secrets from the dear widow. But from what you've told me about her, I have a notion it might turn the other direction."

"Artie…"

"Hear me out. I'm thinking of two reasons why I should go. One very important one is that attack on you last night. We don't know whether Beryl Kingston was involved in any way, shape, or form, nor whether her attorney friend is. If they _are_ this sudden invitation could be a way to trap you."

"Artie…" Jim tried again.

But Artemus kept going. "The second one is to throw a little surprise her way. She expects _you_. In one manner or another, she will be ready for _you_. But if I accompanied you, making it clear that your visit was strictly business…"

Jim was finally nodding. "I see your point. Much as I was anticipating a cozy supper… and who knew what for dessert… I see your point. But you are _not_ riding that distance ."

"Of course not. Go arrange for one of the hotel's buggies. At least the moon will be full tonight."

W*W*W*W*W

This time the guard challenged them at the gate, and to Artemus seemed nonplussed when, after announcing his identity, Jim stated that he had brought his partner with him. James West had been expected to arrive alone, on horseback and not in a carriage. He also saw what Jim meant when he said that the guards appeared capable. This man was burly, with a hard, scarred face. He held a rifle as though he knew what to do with it.

The sentry opened the gate to allow the carriage to pass through, though Artemus had a sense he would have preferred to have some specific instructions before doing so. Artie kept thinking about his partner's description of Beryl Kingston, and how the woman seemed to baffle, almost scare Jim. That was a rare event. He was eager to meet this unusual woman.

Artie was glad to step down from the buggy. Jim had kept the pair of horses at an even pace, doing his best to avoid ruts and potholes, but the ride had been somewhat jarring at times. Artemus had done his best to disguise any discomfort, conscious that Jim looked at him numerous times. He had a feeling that Jim would have turned the vehicle around and headed back to the city if he had been aware just how much his partner's ribs and abdomen were hurting.

The front door opened as they took the stairs up to the porch, and the same surprise that the guard had displayed was on the face of the well-dressed butler. But he retained his aplomb, stepping back to take their hats and close the door. Jim made a brief introduction, and Chase hurried off to tell his mistress of this sudden change in the plans.

"Quite a house," Artemus murmured. "That painting looks like a genuine Corot."

Jim looked in the direction Artie nodded. He had noticed the landscape earlier, but Artie was the connoisseur. "I wouldn't be surprised, considering the amounts you discovered in the Kingston bank accounts."

Chase returned, inviting them to follow him. This time Beryl Kingston was awaiting her visitor—or visitors—in the main dining room, a large room with two crystal chandeliers, huge marble fireplace, gleaming parquet floors, and more artworks on the walls and on various pieces of furniture. Artemus was very impressed. A veritable museum.

He was also impressed by Beryl Kingston. Jim's description did not do her justice, nor could it have. She was a masterpiece herself, the kind of woman one saw in portraits, frozen in time, unattainable. Tonight she wore a ruby red gown in satin trimmed in velvet. The décolletage suggested her intentions for the "late supper."

"Mr. Gordon, you are most welcome," she said in that unusual voice. Artemus wondered if he picked up a slight southern accent in her speech. The police were unable to find out much about her, other than Gerald Kingston had brought her here as his bride three years, after a business trip to Seattle. That fit into what she had told Jim about where she met Kingston.

"Thank you," Artie replied smoothly. "I know you expected my partner alone, and I feel like an intruder, but I was busy in San Francisco when he visited you previously." They had both agreed to continue to keep the attack and its apparent motive a secret. Artemus concurred that allowing those attackers to believe they had actually encountered Theo was a good idea, although he did not know what could come of it.

Beryl instructed Chase, who was hovering near the still open door, to place another setting at the table and inform the cook, assuring the agents that plenty of food was available. "James can tell you," Beryl smiled, "I have an excellent cook. And no oyster soup tonight, James."

Though confused by the remark, Artie did not react. He knew James West loved oysters prepared in any manner, so he must have had a reason to cause Beryl to believe he did not. Chase brought another setting, and the three of them took their places at the polished table, the men on either side of Beryl Kingston.

Artie continued to surreptitiously study her as the first course, a magnificent tomato bisque, was served, Chase bringing a tureen and ladling the rosy liquid into bowls. Artemus suddenly realized the import of the remark about oyster soup. At an informal lunch, very likely the bowls had been served already filled… thus making it possible for one to be laced with a drug or poison. With the bisque served from a common source, that was much less likely.

Beryl's fabulous countenance registered further disappointment when Jim asked her a question about her husband's financial affairs. "Oh, James! Must we?"

He smiled deprecatingly. "I told you, I'm a working man. So is my partner. We're trying to solve the murder of your husband and at least one other, possibly two, that might be connected."

She shook her head, the ruby encrusted combs that secured her raven's wing hair glittering in the light from the chandeliers. "I cannot imagine how there could be a connection, James. Do you agree with him, Artemus? I mean, I have not heard of any acquaintance of Gerald's—or mine—meeting such a fate." She turned those lavender eyes on Artemus Gordon.

Artie realized he had not previously received the full impact of her gaze, and he now knew what his partner had been struggling with. The look was intimate, as though she needed and desired his opinion above all others. Yet behind the softness in the exotically tinted eyes, something else lay. He could not decide what that something was. Fear? Concern? Or a threat.

"Our experience informs us that we cannot ignore any angle," Artie said gently. "I know it's uncomfortable for you to remember your husband's tragic demise, as well as to even consider that he had an enemy vicious enough to harm him. We don't have any real proof that these other deaths are connected, other than the fact that they are also unsolved. Nothing about them is similar beyond that."

His hand, holding his knife, had paused as he spoke, resting on the damask cloth beside his plate, and her own pale and slender one moved to lay her fingers on his. "Oh, Artemus, you are so understanding! I do so want Gerald's murder solved and the criminal brought to justice. I'll try very hard to answer your questions."

Jim West watched his partner, and recognized the emotions on Artie's face that he himself experienced when dealing with this woman. _One part of you, deep down, realizes that something is off, not right, where Beryl Kingston is concerned._ _The other part, which bubbles eagerly to the surface, wants to believe that this fabulous creature is as pure and innocent as she portrays._

"Tell me, Beryl," he said, drawing her attention, and she lifted her hand from Artie's to pick up her own fork again, "do you mind living out here, away from the city? I know you have neighbors, but it all seems so… remote." Jim was glad to see that Artemus grasped his intent immediately, a sour expression appearing on his face. He saw Beryl glance at that expression.

"It wasn't so bad when… when Gerald was alive. We had guests staying with us quite often, as well as an occasional dinner party. I'm afraid we have never gotten close to our neighbors. They are… old money, I suppose one would say, and Gerald was relatively newly wealthy. We were looked upon as… ill-bred yokels, I imagine."

"That's terrible," Artemus put in. "You must be terribly lonely here." _With a half dozen armed guards keeping the public out even if the neighbors did want to pop by!_

"It's not so bad," she responded, turning to him again. "I grew up an only child, so I learned solitary entertainment. I have my piano, my books…"

"Oh, you play? I'd love to hear you play!" Artie bestowed his warmest gaze on her face. At the other side of the table, Jim West was glowering.

"Perhaps after dinner…"

"We won't be able to stay long," Jim snapped. "It's a long drive back to the city, and we have work to do."

"We don't need to be in that much of a hurry, Jim." Artie allowed a sharpness in his tone.

"Why don't you both stay the night?" Beryl put in, now reaching with both hands to touch the near hands of each of her guests. "I'm sure I can find some nightclothes and anything else you need. You can have breakfast and leave early for the city and your odious duties. Please?"

"Come on, Jim," Artie spoke rather querulously, "nothing we'd be able to do in town this late. Let's take advantage of the lady's gracious offer."

Jim glared at his partner, then allowed his expression to soften as he met Beryl Kingston's lavender eyes. "I guess that would work. We still need to ask you some more questions, anyway."

"Of course. I'll have someone take care of your carriage and horse. Let's finish dinner, then we can relax in the front parlor and talk." She was obviously enjoying having two men battling for her attention… and perhaps being distracted from their purpose.

By tacit agreement, the two agents continued to allow her to believe that they had lost interest in asking her questions about the death of her husband. In the fine parlor they sipped brandy while she played her piano, as they admired her, jousted for her attention. And when the evening ended, Beryl showed them to their rooms, sweetly wishing each a pleasant night.

W*W*W*W*W

"Well," Artemus asked, "what did we accomplish?"

"Damned if I know, beyond making Beryl very happy with the knowledge that two friends were quarreling over her." Jim pulled on the reins slightly, urging the horse to the left so as to avoid the rut in the road as much as possible. He was quite aware that his friend was still suffering. He himself had been utterly appalled this morning when Artie asked him, with obvious reluctance, to come to his room and help him adjust the heavy bandages on his chest, and he saw the livid bruises that still remained on Artemus's upper body.

"She's very accomplished," Artie said then. "An accomplished hostess, an accomplished pianist, and probably an accomplished liar. Whether she's an accomplished murderess remains to be seen."

"One thing is for certain, Mr. Hazeltine was not particularly happy to arrive this morning and find us as guests."

"I noticed that."

They had been preparing to take their leave when the attorney showed up. He entered the house without knocking, finding Mrs. Kingston and the two agents saying their farewells in the foyer. The scowl had washed over his countenance swiftly, as he then cordially greeted Jim and was introduced to Artemus, while Beryl explained how the two agents had visited late and then remained overnight.

"How in the devil," Artie said after a long silence, "are we going to find out if she is involved, let alone heading this organization of hired killers?"

"Or is it Hazeltine?" Jim muttered. "Or neither. Are we completely off the trail, being distracted by this… unusual woman?"

"No," Artie stated firmly. "We aren't off the trail, distracted or not. She knows we suspect her, Jim, and she's enjoying the game."

Jim glanced at him. "You think so?"

"I'm sure of it." _She's also enjoying baiting you, James. _Artie hesitated to mention what he had noticed regarding Beryl's feelings toward Jim West. He knew that Jim was quite aware of his effect on women, and a lesser man might have taken advantage of that effect to a greater extent than Jim did. Beryl Kingston was obviously impressed with James West, but Artie detected something different about her attitude.

Artemus would not have been surprised had Jim at least hinted this morning that he had had a midnight visitor. So far as Artie could discern, however, nothing had happened. Beryl's demeanor did not suggest a rendezvous either. _She wants Jim, that's for certain. But maybe not in the same way, and for the same reason, other women want him. At least not entirely for the same reason._

"I guess it's back to digging for dirt," Jim said, speeding the horse up on a smooth stretch. "I think I may pester Condit some more."

"From what you said, you made him pretty nervous, nervous enough to inform someone that you were digging up old problems. Maybe you can now make him nervous enough to say something he shouldn't."

"That's what I was thinking. You got any ideas?"

"Well, I suppose I'll go check in with Lloyd. Maybe you ought to come with me first, before seeing Condit."

Jim shook his head, again slowing the horse down to avoid a rough patch in the road. "I don't need anything further on Gaskin just to talk to Condit."

"One of us ought to check in with Colonel Richmond."

"You do that, will you, Artie? I just have a sense it might be good to hit Condit first thing this morning, let him know I haven't forgotten him. And you know what? I might go pay a call on Mrs. Condit."

"You might be playing with fire there, James. She might be more dangerous than Beryl Kingston."

"She could also have some information we could use, quite possibly information she has no idea she knows she possesses."

W*W*W*W*W

"Twelve! A round dozen so far." Artemus Gordon dropped the sheet of paper on Lloyd Morris's desk, his expression angry and dark. "My God, Lloyd!"

Lloyd Morris's face was equally grim. "We haven't even heard from everyone yet, Artemus. All these deaths, up and down the state over the last half dozen years. Who knows how many that Gaskin was _not_ involved in? He's our only link among them right now."

"Yeah." Artie sank into a chair. Telegrams had been delivered to police headquarters from law officers throughout the state of California in response to queries about Theo Gaskin and possible unsolved murders. Besides the four murders they had known about here in San Francisco and Sacramento, eight had been reported from other locations, with one Theo Gaskin involved in some form with the victim prior to the deaths, but always having a solid alibi and never suspected.

"But no sign of Gaskin himself," Morris muttered. "Artemus, Gaskin might be the key to the whole thing."

Artie looked up. "Might be? Lloyd, I'm sure he _is._ If we could find Gaskin… but hell, he could be anywhere, even dead."

"If he is, those guys that beat you up don't know it."

"True." Artemus stared toward the window behind Lloyd, the germ of an idea forming. He needed to run it by Jim, and maybe the colonel. He pushed himself to his feet. "There's a couple of banks and investment houses that we weren't able to get to yesterday. I'd better go check them out today. Who knows, they could have information that might knock all kinds of holes into our theories about Gerald Kingston."

"You don't really believe that."

"No," Artie sighed, "but we have to cover everything. If Jim shows up, tell him I'll meet him at the hotel for dinner. I have a suspicion that working by myself it'll take that long to hit these places."

Lloyd grinned. "Sorry I don't have a pretty police matron I can assign to work with you."

"Well, you can help otherwise by digging up all the information you can on Beryl Kingston, her late husband, and Harrison Hazeltine."

The police sergeant shook his head doubtfully. "I suspect you already have all we got."

"Has to be more, Lloyd. Do what you can, okay? See you later. Give whatever you find to Jim when he shows up."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

It is dangerous to abandon oneself to the luxury of grief;

it deprives one of courage, and even of the wish for recovery.

Frédéric Amiel (1821-1881), Swiss writer

"Where's Jim?"

Artie pulled out a chair and sat down opposite his superior. "I expected him to be here by now. Have you seen him all day?"

"No. I've been in my room, working on reports, ever since you came by this morning."

Artemus picked up the menu, stared at it a long moment, then lifted his gaze to colonel. "Odd. His plans, as I told you earlier, were to visit Condit and try to put some pressure on him, and if that didn't work, go visit the wife. That wouldn't take all day."

"Wouldn't think so. Perhaps he got a lead to follow up."

"Perhaps."

They were interrupted by the waiter arriving to take their order. Artemus glanced at the menu and made a quick selection, something he seldom did. He could not explain his feelings, but he knew something was wrong. Jim West could act recklessly, and often did, but even in his impulsiveness, thought was behind it, although he sometimes got himself in trouble with his rashness.

They had reached the hotel a little before ten this morning. Jim left the carriage at the hotel stable, where they had acquired it, and then took his black horse to head for Condit's office while Artemus went up to report to the colonel. Artie had taken cabs to visit police headquarters, then spent the day checking the financial institutions missed yesterday. He had not returned to the hotel until just now.

"I was just thinking," Artie said when the waiter had gone away, "Jim probably went to talk to Lloyd Morris. I had asked Lloyd to continue to dig for information about the Kingstons and Hazeltine. Could be Lloyd had something for Jim, and he went to investigate further. After we eat, I'll go check with Lloyd."

W*W*W*W*W

"Haven't seen Jim all day. To tell you the truth, I was surprised he didn't come by the station."

Artie frowned deeply. "He didn't come by the hotel either. Thanks, Betty." He accepted the cup of coffee from Lloyd's wife. Because the sergeant was off duty, Artemus had come to his home.

"He probably got wrapped up in something and forgot the time," Betty commented.

A smile played on her husband's mouth. "Or met a beautiful lady and got wrapped up a different way."

"Lloyd!"

"You could be right," Artemus said slowly. "He was going to pay a call on Condit's lovely and flirtatious wife. But I don't think…" He halted his words. Jim usually avoided married women, other than some mild flirtation. Was it possible that Irving Condit arrived home and…? "I'm going back down to headquarters to see if anyone else might have seen Jim, perhaps after you left for the day."

"I'll go with you," Lloyd began.

"No, no. You've been putting in too much of your own time, Lloyd. Stay home for tonight. Betty will appreciate it, especially now that your company has departed." Artie winked.

The trip to police headquarters was fruitless. James West had not been seen there. Well, not entirely fruitless because Artemus was able to pick up a folder that Lloyd had told him about, the one containing two more telegrams confirming that Theo Gaskin had a connection with two more unsolved murders. These were outside the state of California, one in Oregon, the other in Nevada.

Back at the hotel, Artie went to Richmond's room after checking at Jim's and receiving no response to his knock. The colonel confirmed that Jim West had not shown up since Artemus departed a couple of hours earlier.

"I don't like this, Artemus. Considering the attack on Jim the other night…"

"I've had that on my mind all day, sir. I think I should go visit Mr. and Mrs. Condit. And perhaps Mrs. Kingston again."

The colonel got to his feet, grabbing his hat. "Let's go."

Mr. and Mrs. Condit were home, and entertaining. Mr. Condit was highly annoyed to be pulled away from his guests, Mrs. Condit not so much as she viewed the two handsome men who had called. Irving Condit admitted that Agent West had come to his office to talk to him. "I don't know why you want to talk to my wife. She met Mr. West only those few moments in my office."

"Oh, Irv, darling. I completely forgot to mention that Mr. West called. It was midday, so I invited him to stay for lunch. A most charming man, I daresay. We chatted about so many things."

"Mrs. Condit," Richmond said, forestalling whatever the husband was about to explode with, "did Mr. West give any indication of where he intended to go when he left here?"

"No, I don't think so. I tried to persuade him to stay longer. We were having such… such a pleasant time."

"What time did he leave?" Artemus inquired.

"Oh, my. Around two I believe. Yes, I'm sure of that because I met with the man who delivered the flowers for our party just after that, and his appointment was at two."

Irving Condit cleared his throat. "Er, when Mr. West left my office, he told me he was going to the waterfront."

Artemus and the colonel exchanged a glance. "The waterfront?" Richmond echoed. "Did he say why?"

"Well, of course not. He also did not tell me he planned to call on my wife." Condit was staring at something over Artemus's shoulder. Artie saw the perspiration on the realtor's brow.

"Do you mind telling us what information, if any, you gave Mr. West?" Artie asked politely.

Condit's eyes flitted momentarily to Artemus, then the colonel, and returned to that most interesting spot on the wall behind Artie. "Well, nothing new. I have no idea why he returned. I had nothing more to tell him. After all, I told him the truth during his first visit, which I felt was unnecessary, by the way. He had no right barging into my office and…"

"We'll be going now," Richmond broke in.

"Oh, must you?" Lydia Condit cried, taking hold of Artie's arm. "Come and join our gathering. I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time."

Artie gently disengaged her hand. "Thank you, Mrs. Condit, but we have work to do. If you should remember anything that Mr. West told you, please contact police headquarters and ask for Sergeant Morris."

Artemus did not speak again until he was settled in the hack, sitting across from the colonel, and when he did, his voice was taut. "He's lying."

"Obviously," Richmond replied calmly. "But why?"

"Nothing we've found so far has any connection with the waterfront," Artie persisted, angrily.

"I'm agreeing with you, Artemus. My question is, why?"

Artemus Gordon shook himself mentally. "Obviously someone told him to say that."

"And the next question then is…"

"Who? Colonel, if Irving Condit hired someone to murder his partner, that 'someone' would have a perpetual hold on him. If they go down, he goes down. I presume the situation is the same for every person involved in this murder-for-hire cabal. So they'll do what they're told, even while sweating bullets. After Jim visited Condit yesterday, Condit's assistant took an envelope to a man in a nearby building. That man immediately departed, apparently to deliver that envelope. That evening, Jim was attacked."

"I know all this, Artemus. But who is the person in charge of this cabal… and where's James West?"

Artie sighed. "I don't know. I don't usually worry too much when Jim is out on his own, but this time…" He shook his head. "I also don't usually have premonitions. But…"

"This time you do. I agree, Artemus. This whole business is entirely too strange. And it's huge. Statewide, reaching into nearby states. That alone makes it federal business—if we can prove that all these murders are truly connected beyond the involvement of this Gaskin fellow."

Artie leaned forward slightly. "Colonel, if Jim is not back at the hotel, nor left word, I'm going down to the waterfront."

"Thought you said Jim wouldn't go there."

"And I still say so. But there's a reason we were given that information."

W*W*W*W*W

A heavy fog was rolling in off the bay as Artemus Gordon and Colonel James Richmond made their way along the darkened piers. At the late hour on a raw summer night, few people were about unless they had business there, such as the crew who were still loading a ship due to sail with the early morning tide. The two federal men talked to as many of those workers as they could. None could remember seeing a man fitting the description of James West in the vicinity during that day.

Richmond lit a match to consult his watch. "I think we'd better check in with Morris and his men."

Artie wanted to protest, to insist on continuing the search, but he knew the wisdom of his commanding officer's suggestion. They had been out here nearly three hours, fruitlessly searching. Lloyd Morris had men on other portions of the waterfront, men who were to report regularly to the sergeant. The possibility existed that one of those men had come across some information… but Artemus doubted it.

_Jim had absolutely no reason to come to the waterfront. If he discovered a reason, he would have managed to at least send a note to me or Colonel Richmond. I know this is some sort of ploy, but the question is why, and who is setting it up? Where is Jim?_

He was not surprised, therefore, when they found the sergeant at his post outside a closed fish market, that no news was forthcoming. Morris's men had been asking questions all over. The good news was that Lloyd had a fresh hot pot of coffee brought from a restaurant a couple of blocks away, so the two Secret Service men could warm themselves with a cup before heading back out into the chilly summer night.

Artemus was draining his cup when they heard shouts. Turning in the direction the calls were coming from, he could barely make out forms coming down the street, ghostlike in the glow of the fog-shrouded street lamps. "Oh my God," he exclaimed suddenly, dropping the porcelain cup on the pavement and not noticing when it shattered as he took off at a run.

"Where did you find him?"

The uniformed patrolman leading the gleaming black horse replied. "He was tied up in an alley down on pier seventeen. Couple fellows we talked to said he was there since the middle of the afternoon, but they didn't see who left him there."

"That's Jim's horse," Richmond said, unnecessarily, as he came up with Morris.

"What else?" Artemus directed his question to the patrolman, who clearly had more to say.

The young man cleared his throat. "Well, sir, we did find an old fellow who said he saw a man who fit Mr. West's description. He said…" The officer halted, looking toward his sergeant.

"Go ahead, Blake. This could be important. Where did he see Mr. West?"

"He saw him with some of Red Mary's boys. They had hold of Mr. West."

Artie spun toward Lloyd Morris. "Red Mary! She…"

Even in the dull glow from the street lamp, one could see the loss of color from Morris's complexion. "She's sometimes called Shanghai Mary because her boys grab men to fill the crew of outgoing ships."

Richmond stepped forward. "We need to find out which ships are sailing tonight. The one we just saw…"

"That ship is part of a fleet, Colonel," Artemus stated. "They don't need to kidnap men to fill their crew. It's usually privately owned vessels that are running on shoestrings. No funds to hire men." His voice was steady, but his heart was pounding.

"All right. Then we still must learn which ships are leaving the bay tonight. They won't hang around long lest someone comes looking for missing men."

W*W*W*W*W

"It can't be true!"

"Artemus…"

The man pacing the floor in Richmond's hotel room paused, glared at his superior. "You know it's a hoax, sir. It has to be."

"I hope it is," the colonel replied quietly. "But for now, all the signs point to Jim West having been shanghaied, and could now be miles and miles out to sea. We have witnesses, Artemus."

"Yes, and those witnesses have vanished!"

"Wharf rats who want little or nothing to do with the police. Artemus, you may have to accept the hard facts. Jim's horse was on the docks. Men who did not need to volunteer information came forward…"

"Exactly. Colonel, you just said that those men normally avoid the police like a plague, never offering any helpful information unless paid highly. I didn't hear any of the officers state that they were offering rewards for the information. Not only that, Jim has conveniently been shanghaied to a ship whose captain purportedly dumps his kidnapped crew members into the sea, weighted with iron, if the Navy threatens to board! Even if he was not found on that ship, no proof would exist whether he had been there or not!" Artemus Gordon's voice was hoarse with rage and frustration, his eyes fiery. "I don't believe it! It's just too… too… I don't know. Jim would not have gone down there, Colonel. Not without telling me."

"Artemus, we went through this before. Jim sometimes acts impulsively, especially if he believes rapid action is required. He might have gotten some information that…"

"But from where? He left the Condit home around two, if Mrs. Condit is to be believed. At this point, we don't know if she knows what her husband is involved in or not. Her only concern appears to be that he provides the funds to support her in lavish style. The men who claimed they saw Jim leave Blackjack in that alley said it happened around three. What did he do between two and three that sent him pell-mell for the docks, in too much of a hurry that he didn't even stop some street urchin and send him to the hotel with a note for me?"

"Maybe he did and the kid just tossed the note."

"No. When Jim and I use that method, we always tell the kid that a further reward will come when the note is delivered. No boy is going to neglect doubling his profit. It just doesn't add up, Colonel. It's a clever scheme, and she's behind it."

"She? Who? You just said Mrs. Condit…" Richmond's face was momentarily blank, then his eyes widened. "Mrs. Kingston?"

"Has to be. She wants Jim. I don't know for what purpose, but I saw it in her eyes last night. She flirted with me just to make Jim jealous, and with our little act, she thought she was being successful."

Richmond's brows lifted. "You don't know for what purpose?"

Artie waved a hand and began his pacing again. "It's more than that. I mean, perhaps she does see him as a potential lover. But… it's more than that. I think we'd better pay a visit to Kingston Hall first thing in the morning."

"We."

"Yes, sir." Artemus halted his movements. "I want you to meet her, and for her to meet you. To put the full weight of the federal government on her mind."

The colonel got to his feet, frowning thoughtfully. "Won't that be dangerous for Jim, if you are correct?"

"No. Not right away. As I said, I don't know what she has in mind where Jim is concerned, but I don't think she'll panic that quickly. Once you meet Beryl Kingston, I think you'll agree." Artemus pulled out his pocket watch. "It's nearly four. We should try to get a few hours of sleep, but I believe we should be on the road quite early. I'll go down and request a carriage be ready for us at eight."

He left the room before the colonel could say anything further, concurring or not.

W*W*W*W*W

"Well." James Richmond let out a long breath as Artemus guided the carriage horse out through the gate past the guard and out onto the main road. "I think I'm beginning to understand."

"She has Jim, or knows where he is, I'm sure of it." Artemus stared grimly ahead.

"I'll admit that she's a mysterious woman, Artemus, but I'm afraid I didn't perceive the same signals you did."

"She was surprised when we did not display any concern for Jim's whereabouts."

"Yes, I suppose that's true. But she asked about him, as though she expected him to be with us."

"Of course." Artie had not missed how Beryl had rather belatedly looked out the door, as though seeking another party, after she herself had opened the front door to admit them. Only then had she inquired about Jim West. "She is not supposed to know he's missing, especially because we did not let on that he is."

Richmond glanced at his agent. "You know, Artemus, we have absolutely no proof against her, and no way of obtaining any at the moment."

"I know, sir. But I also know I'm going to find Jim, and if he's not in that house, he's somewhere that she knows about. But speaking of proof, do you think the judge is going to grant the request to allow us to look at Kingston's records at the banks?"

"I hope so. He promised to let me know by early afternoon."

"That might go a long way towards helping us amass some evidence."

"Unless," Richmond warned, "Gerald Kingston or Mrs. Kingston have bank accounts we have not uncovered yet… or did not deposit their ill-gotten gains in a regular bank account."

"I don't think that's the case. When Miss Collingwood and I were investigating the various financial institutions, I got the distinct impression from the two banks where Kingston has accounts that he made fairly regular, substantial deposits, purportedly from his investments and speculation. But we've pretty well determined that those activities never occurred."

"Very strange that Kingston would leave such a trail," the colonel commented.

"Sir, you know as well as I do that the egos of some criminals are very large. If Gerald Kingston was the original leader of this murderous gang, it has been in business for several years, without detection. He may have thought he would never be caught."

"I wonder what happened," Richmond said softly.

"Sir?"

"If your theories prove correct, it seems his lovely young wife turned on him."

"Perhaps aided and abetted by Mr. Hazeltine."

"There's nothing to indicate he has anything to do with this, Artemus. He may be only an acquaintance, or at best—or worst—Mrs. Kingston's attorney."

"Don't bet on it," Artemus retorted sarcastically. "He was not happy at all when he arrived at Kingston Hall to find me and Jim there, especially when he realized that we had stayed overnight."

"Again," the colonel sighed, "we have nothing to go on. He's perfectly respectable, with a fine reputation, albeit he has helped a few pretty bad characters get lighter punishment. But that's what lawyers do."

They drove on in silence for awhile. Artemus was deep in thought, mulling some ideas, and neglecting to watch for potholes and ruts in the road. Therefore, he grunted in discomfort when the right wheel of the buggy dropped into a hole with a jolting thud.

"How do you feel?" Richmond inquired.

"Sir?"

"Your ribs and your bruises. How do you feel?"

"Well…" Artie drew the word out, as though reluctant to answer.

"The truth, Gordon. I heard that groan a few moments ago."

Artemus sighed. "I'm pretty sore and pretty tired."

"I thought so. When we get back into the city, drop me off at the hotel. I can get a hack to city hall and the judge's office. You go on to the hospital and have Dr. Fifield check you over. That's an order, Gordon."

"Yes, sir. I think you are right. Yes, sir."

The colonel did not seem too worried about the usually obstreperous agent's easy acquiescence.

W*W*W*W*W

Jim West finally turned away from the window. The buggy was long gone, undoubtedly on its way back to San Francisco. Gordon and Richmond had probably spoken to Beryl Kingston, and whether they believed whatever she told them or not, they had no reason to remain. Quite possibly they had simply come to give her the bad news: James West had been shanghaied and was likely on his way to the Far East in a fast clipper, one the Navy would never catch.

"And even if they do, darling," Beryl had gloated, "they will find no shanghaied crew, because Captain Colquist has a reputation of preferring to dispose of such captives before the Navy boards. He has never been caught with captives aboard, and thus never formally charged. It will be assumed that you are, sadly, dead."

"Why?" Jim had asked.

She ignored the query, reaching out to run her finger along his cheek. His hands had been bound behind his back at the time or he might have slapped hers away. "Now, we'll devise a new identity for you. You can grow a beard for now. Yes, a nice, distinguished beard."

"Why?" he asked again.

Again, she ignored him, stepping back to wave a hand toward his surroundings. "This will be your home for the time being, James. I'm sorry, but it will be necessary for you to prove your loyalty and devotion before we… I can allow you to rove free. But you'll be comfortable. And I _will_ return to visit frequently. I promise."

His "home for the time being" was a room within the cupola on the northwest corner of the house, overlooking the front driveway. A round room, originally probably twenty-five feet in diameter, its dimensions had been reduced by the bars that had been installed all around the perimeter, a foot or so inside of the walls and the windows that were all around the circumference. Jim had already tried to reach a window by extending his hand through the bars, and found he could not quite grasp the window latch.

Nothing was available to use to break a window. He had looked around frantically upon spotting the carriage departing, fruitlessly attempting to wrench a leg from the sofa. He had not seen nor heard the buggy arrive, having been laying on the sole piece of furniture in the room, the sofa provided as his bed, pondering his situation. Just by chance, he had risen to pace around his cell and had spied the buggy heading for the gate, recognized the two men within it.

Jim West looked down at the palm of his right hand, saw the small reddish spot. _Damn! I was so stupid!_

Yesterday afternoon, after leaving the Condit residence, he had headed for the police station, deciding it would be a good idea to check in there before returning to the hotel or trying to hook up with Artemus. When he heard his name called, he had recognized the voice immediately, but had been surprised to realize she was in the city.

She was in a fine carriage, brass trimmings polished and gleaming in the sun. When she waved a hand out the door window, he saw the jade ring glimmer. Out of both courtesy and curiosity, he had dismounted and crossed the street, leading the black horse by the reins. "Beryl, I didn't expect to see you again today."

Her smile was brilliant. "Aren't surprises fun? I decided to come into town to do some shopping… and hope that a handsome gentleman would ask me to dinner."

He had smiled back, still a little puzzled, but not especially concerned being that it was the middle of the day and in the middle of a somewhat busy street. "I'm not sure what a handsome gentleman would do, but I wish I had time and opportunity to extend that invitation. I'm afraid I have other plans that will prevent me from enjoying your company."

The lavender eyes had widened, the lovely mouth drooped in a pout. "Oh, James! Truly? I am so terribly disappointed."

Beryl had extended her hand through the window, the one with the ring. He had automatically taken it. Her fingers squeezed his, and he had felt the tiny pin prick on his palm. Instantly aware, he had jerked his hand away, but it was too late. The numbness spread over his body. He had not blacked out immediately, had not collapsed, and had been conscious that a man had come up behind him to grasp his upper arms. Even with blurred vision, Jim knew he was being forced up into the now opened door of the carriage. He was helpless to resist, his body unresponsive to the commands from his own brain.

"Get the horse," Beryl said, and that was pretty much the last he remembered until he awakened in the darkness of this tower room, on the divan, bound hand and foot. He had been alone until dawn began to break, when she came, along with Hazeltine and two of the guards. One thing was immediately apparent, and that was that the lawyer was very unhappy with whatever plans Beryl Kingston had. He had not spoken a word, only stood aside and glowered.

She had instructed one of her men to remove the ropes from around Jim's ankles so that he could stand up, and apologized profusely for this treatment. "You'll come to understand, James, and I know you'll forgive me." Beryl had then gone on to explain how his friends were going to be led to believe he had been shanghaied on the San Francisco wharves. She had no doubt that they would accept his fate and stop seeking him, or at least direct their search toward the sea.

Beryl Kingston refused to explain any further regarding her reason for kidnapping him, and after then ordering her guard to remove the ropes from Jim's wrists, he had been left alone. He soon realized why she had been willing to have him untied. The bars that enclosed the room were extremely sturdy, embedded deeply in floor and ceiling. When he asked if the room had been prepared specifically for his comfort, Beryl had laughed. "No, darling, I'm afraid not. The previous owners had a son who was subject to very violent fits, and he was locked in here when the spasms assailed him. Gerald and I just never did anything further with the room, fortunately as it now seems."

He had obviously been searched thoroughly while unconscious, for both the knife he usually kept at the back of his jacket and the one in his boot toe were gone, along with his sleeve gun. As usual, he had wads of the explosive putty in the boot heels as well as a short fuse in his coat collar, but they had also removed his matches. This room did not have any lanterns or candles that might afford an opportunity to light the fuse.

_Even if I had some acid, I don't think I could have carried enough to burn through these heavy bars to provide an opening sufficiently large for me to get through. Need some of Artie's tape…_

Jim went to the area of the tower door, a set of the bars that were not embedded, but were securely attached to those that were. When he shook it, nothing moved. He could reach around to the keyhole, but had nothing to use to try to open it. The picklock had been removed from his lapel as well.

With a sigh he returned to the front windows and gazed down at the now empty driveway towards the closed gates. Artemus and Colonel Richmond had been here. Why? To tell Beryl Kingston that James West was missing, hoping that she would admit that said agent had come back to her home late last night and was now enjoying a leisurely breakfast with her? Or to try to trap her into revealing something?

In any case, they had come and gone and he had no way of knowing, other than his awareness of how his partner operated. The latter idea was probably on Artie's mind, unless he and others bought the shanghaiing story. Jim knew, as did all law agencies, that such kidnappings occurred here and in other seacoast cities. If a vessel was due to sail and had not yet hired on a full complement, the captain might get desperate. Some did it as a rule, because they saved money by not having to pay wages to the captives, who were either killed and dumped at sea or perhaps left stranded in some foreign port.

_But I know Artie. He's not going to take anything at face value. He won't give up looking for me._

In the meanwhile, Jim knew he had to try to help himself. No food or water had been brought to him yet, so that might be an opportunity; depending on how many men accompanied the provisions, he might have a chance to make a move.

_What in the world does Beryl Kingston have in mind for me? The talk about me growing a beard and taking another identity… sounds as though she expects me to join her gang. Why would she believe that I would do such a thing? _

W*W*W*W*W

Artemus took the buggy to police headquarters first, and sought Lloyd Morris. The weary sergeant reported nothing new. He had tracked down Red Mary, the suspected leader of a gang well-known for kidnapping unwary men to be put on ships sailing within hours, such as the one they learned would have sailed on the tide around the same time Jim's horse was discovered.

"Mary denied shanghaiing anyone, of course, and claimed she didn't recognize anyone of Jim's description. But here's the odd thing, Artemus. I've known Mary for years, since I was a patrolman on the Barbary Coast, and I know her pretty well. When I mentioned the _Carmela_, which sailed last night, Hiram Colquist, captain, she growled—and I mean growled— 'I never deal with that double-crossing SOB.' She had some choice words for Colquist.

"When I got back here, I looked up some records, and about three years ago, a brawl occurred in a dive that's since burned down, between Colquist's crew and Mary's boys. Several were killed, and about all we could get out of it for a reason was that Colquist had reneged on payment. I checked some sources, and they pretty much confirm that Mary never deals with Colquist now."

"The supposed witness to the abduction identified Red Mary's men."

"Exactly. And that witness has vanished from the face of the earth. Or at least from the docks and the Barbary Coast, along with the men who said they saw Jim leave Blackjack in that alley."

Artie nodded grimly. "Probably either dead by now or well paid to move to another town. Lloyd, I'm positive Jim would not have gone down to the waterfront. He had no reason to."

Lloyd leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "So what do you want to do?"

For a long moment Artemus was quiet. Then he gazed directly at the young sergeant. "I have an idea. It has to be between you and me at the moment."

Morris did not hesitate. "Go ahead."

W*W*W*W*W

Beryl Kingston showed up close to noon with a tray of food and a cup of coffee, as well as three armed guards. One of the trio stood in the open doorway with a shotgun, the other two behind him, as she carried the silvery tray laden with fine china over to the divan where Jim was laying, his arms behind head. He did not make a move to rise.

"I'm so sorry to have neglected you, James," she smiled. "I know you must be quite put out with me. But I've brought you a delightful meal. I'm sure you'll love it."

He still did not stir, gazing at her with an impassive expression. After a few seconds, Beryl stooped to put the tray on the floor, as no other furniture was in the room. She straightened and looked down at him.

"Are you punishing me, James?"

"Do you deserve punishment?"

She sat down on the edge of the sofa, placing her hand on his chest. "James, I am truly sorry for the need to keep you imprisoned here. It won't be for long, I assure you."

"And then what? Your boys shoot me?"

The aghast expression on her face appeared genuine. "Oh, no! How can you think that? My dear, we have a wonderful future together."

Now he lifted up on one elbow, keeping his green eyes fastened on her face. "I'm getting the idea I don't have a choice in the matter."

"Mother knows best," she cooed, now touching his cheek with the back of her fingers. "James, the moment I saw you, I knew we were destined to be together. I had heard of you, your reputation, but of course had never seen you, let alone met you. Had that occurred earlier… well, things would have been very different."

"Would they? How?"

"Well, depending on _when_ we met, perhaps I would never have married Gerald. But in retrospect, it's probably best that things happened this way. Now we will have a wonderful life together."

"What about Hazeltine?"

For just one instant her eyes became hard amethyst stones. Then she laughed lightly. "Harry is not part of the plan, my dear."

"Just as Gerald became no longer part of the plan?"

"I'm afraid so. He wanted to retire, to pass the leadership on to someone else. Even to Harry. But I wasn't ready for that. We have a successful enterprise and a very profitable one. No need to close up shop yet."

"So things backfired for Gerald."

"Yes. I'm told he was extremely surprised when Rusty entered the office that evening, and even more surprised when Rusty pulled out a gun. I'm afraid Gerald trained us all too well. The solution to the problem was easy. He became just another unsolved murder."

Now Jim sat up all the way, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Beryl's position beside him would make it very difficult to swing his legs to the floor. "How long has this been going on? The business I mean."

"Oh, goodness. Long before I met Gerald. Perhaps ten years. I'm proud to say that I had a great hand in expanding the firm. Previously, his men worked only in northern California. I encouraged Gerald to advertise in southern California, as well as neighboring states."

"Advertise?"

"By word of mouth, of course. You'd be surprised—or perhaps not—how many people have friends, relatives, partners, even enemies, they would like to dispose of but cannot because the trail would point right back to them, especially because of motive. Take Irving Condit for instance. He needed his partner's money in order to have a fresh start, but if he had killed Abel himself, the police would have come after him immediately. By employing our firm, he was able to be far, far away, and the officials have nothing on him."

"Except Theo Gaskin."

Beryl winced visibly. "Theo was a long-term mistake. Gerald devised the idea when he first started the enterprise. Actually, another man was originally in the position, but he did not work out very well. Theo was found about… I suppose it must have been five or six years ago. Before I met Gerald. His job was to report the habits and schedules of the intended… target. Because the various subjects were unconnected, Theo was not connected by the police until… How _did_ you connect him?"

"Gaskin was found in the alley after your friends beat him up," Jim lied smoothly. "I happened to be at police headquarters when the police officer who talked to Gaskin at the hospital came in to report. The detective to whom I was speaking recognized the name… and from there you might say it snowballed. My partner and I became fully involved when it became known that Gaskin had been in the employ of a federal attorney who was murdered." He was unsure why keeping silent about Artie's disguise would be of any avail at this point, but he also could not think of any reason to give her too much information. "I got the idea that Gaskin is now _persona non grata_ in your organization. What happened?"

"Theo got too big for his britches. Wanted more money. Also made a very big mistake and threatened to leak some information to the police. So we sent him away."

"Why not kill him?"

"Because we feared that regardless of how he was disposed of, the police might get involved, and the same thing happen as you described. Someone might remember the name. I suppose that was a big mistake too, allowing Theo to use his real name in all his posts. Perhaps we got a bit complacent, everything was working so well, and actually, I became rather fond of him. He was a fine storyteller and very entertaining.

"I cannot imagine what possessed Theo to return to San Francisco now. I had heard he was happily ensconced as an innkeeper up in British Columbia. However, I'm sure he'll return there post haste. We now use a much better method to set up the appointments. Several men, rather than just one, are used alternately." She got to her feet. "Your food is getting cold. Ollie will wait at the door to collect your tray… and utensils.. when you are finished."

Now Jim rose as well. "You don't trust me, yet you expect me to join your organization."

Beryl patted his cheek. "You will earn my trust, darling. I'll come see you later." She headed for the door, paused and turned back. "By the way, your partner and a Colonel Richmond called this morning. I'm not entirely sure what they hoped to accomplish, for they did not mention you had disappeared. However, Mr. Gordon was quite tense. I know men well, James. In just the short time of our acquaintance, I have come to know Artemus completely, just as I know you. He was tense and upset. He knows you are lost forever, and believes you are either dead or will be on Colquitt's vessel."

Jim did not reply, hoping she did not know him as well as she thought, and that she now believed he was feeling distraught and helpless.

_She's mad!_

Beryl exited through the barred door, and vanished. The cell's door was closed, and the man with the shotgun stood outside it, eyes fastened on the prisoner. He was one of the men Artie had sketched. Jim picked up his tray and put it on the couch, sitting alongside it as he lifted the domed covers from the dishes. Roast chicken, herbed potatoes and small peas were on the plate. Another dish held a slice of apple pie, and in the cup was steaming coffee. The aromas caused him to realize he had not eaten since the midday meal at the extremely flirtatious Mrs. Condit's yesterday.

Jim picked up the cup and saluted his impassive guard before taking a welcome swallow. He did not worry about the victuals being drugged. Beryl had no reason to drug him now. She had him. But why did she think he would join her murderous activities?

_Because she's insane. Maybe that's what bothered me from the very beginning, though I did not entirely realize it. This porcelain doll beauty, perfection on the exterior, flawed inside. I was drawn to her, yet repulsed at the same time._

The sentry's gaze never left him, and the man hardly seemed to blink. Jim knew he was watching to make sure the prisoner did not attempt to secrete any of the silverware in particular. The tines of the fork might work very well as a lock pick. A knife could be sharpened into a deadly weapon. _This fellow probably spent time in a penitentiary and knows all these tricks!_

He and Artie had speculated that Harry Hazeltine took advantage of the gratitude of criminals that he defended, saving them from long prison terms or even the gallows. Beryl had freely stated that "Rusty"—obviously the redheaded man who led the attack on Artemus—had murdered her husband. No doubt every man in her employ was a murderer. Using different men to commit the crimes was clever. Possible witness descriptions from area to area would be varied, and was probably why no connection had been made until now.

_How many murders?_ The thought was unimaginable. Beryl said that her late husband had masterminded the operation for at least ten years. The police had uncovered a dozen possibly connected deaths in the last four or five years. How many had been committed by Kingston's thugs, paid for by relatives or acquaintances who for one reason or another wanted a person dead? Thus far, the scheme had been perfect, undetectable.

Jim wondered if Beryl realized that that was not going to be the case from now on. Regardless of what happened to him, or even to Artemus, the authorities were aware, even if they did not yet have all the information needed. In her madness, her overweening confidence in herself might be her undoing in the end. Like many criminals, insane or not, she certainly believed she was smarter than mere mortals who wore badges.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Appearances are deceptive.

_The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing_ – Aesop [_Floruit_ 550 B.C.]

After leaving the police station, Artemus went to the hospital, primarily because he knew his superior would be checking up on him. Dr. Fifield was not in, but by complaining about the physician's absence, then petulantly allowing another doctor to change the swathing bandage around his chest, Artie made sure that several nurses and a couple of doctors would remember that he himself had checked in. That doctor commented only to say that things "looked all right" especially as far as the bruises on Mr. Gordon's body were concerned. When Richmond called on them, those hospital personnel would assure him that Artemus Gordon had gotten the checkup as instructed.

When he returned to the hotel and met the colonel for a late lunch, Artie was able to tell the truth when he said he was looked at by a doctor and that the doctor pronounced all was well. Richmond had the news that the judge had signed the order to permit inspection of the Kingston bank records, past and present. He was going to go take care of that chore himself, after first stopping at the police station to get the dates of the known murders. Did Agent Gordon want to accompany him?

Artemus thanked Richmond but said he was tired and thought he might lay down for awhile. They had not gotten much sleep last night, and perhaps his injuries were wearing him down. Artie could see by his sympathetic expression that the colonel might be thinking the fatigue was enhanced by grief; that perhaps Artemus Gordon was beginning to accept the possibility of the loss of his partner.

With a final grim word that he was also going to stop by the Navy office to learn whether they had had any luck chasing the _Carmela_ or in searching other ships that were still at the docks, the colonel left the table. Artemus merely nodded, quite certain that even if the Navy was able to apprehend the _Carmela_, Jim West would not be aboard, and not because the beastly captain had tossed his captives overboard. _Jim was never on any ship. He was never shanghaied. Beryl Kingston has him, and I'm going to find him._

Completing his meal, Artemus went up to his room and carefully checked his supplies. He had brought the "Theo Gaskin" costume home from the hospital with him, but he realized that he did not have the right makeup on hand. Theo had taken a bad beating a few days ago. Some bruises should still be evident, particularly if he had not had the care that Artemus Gordon had actually had, especially the ice to put on those bruises, bringing down the swelling and discoloration.

_Jim's idea to not tell anyone beyond the police about the mistaken identity might just turn out to be one of the best he ever had,_ Artie decided, taking the elevator down to the lobby again. He was certain his partner had never considered the fact that the disguise might be used, even needed, again. Jim undoubtedly felt, as Artemus did at the time, that not broadcasting that information might help to run the assailants to earth, if only by keeping them unaware of how much the authorities knew.

It had not. The quartet who had attacked him had pretty much vanished from San Francisco. At least no one had acknowledged seeing any of them when shown the sketches. Artemus had a strong suspicion they were at Kingston Hall, laying low for the time being, or at least were not using their usual haunts, like the bar where they had accosted him. He hoped the latter was the correct possibility.

Artemus knew that Colonel Richmond was right, that they had nothing remotely resembling proof right now that Beryl Kingston was involved in the murder-for-hire plot. Even if the inspection of the bank records revealed large deposits coinciding with the dates of murders, that might not be considered "proof" without further information. Someone like Harry Hazeltine would rip such evidence to shreds in court, and undoubtedly would provide "reliable witnesses" to testify regarding Gerald Kingston's prowess as an investor and speculator. Even if the deposits continued after Kingston's death, no doubt a canny attorney could discredit the prosecution's case on such flimsy testimony.

_Finding a captive Jim West on her premises would be rather strong proof_. Not for one moment did Artemus believe that Beryl had ordered Jim killed. Not yet anyway. As well, he was confident that his partner would keep himself alive, even if that meant playing along with whatever grand plans Beryl had for him. _I just need to find him._

He went to a favorite shop to purchase the correct tubes and sticks of makeup, then took a hack to the bar he had been in that night when he was attacked. At this time of day the clientele was sparse, but Artemus was glad to see the same bartender who had served him that night. The barkeep did not recognize him, of course, but he did recognize the description of the redheaded man, whom Artie identified as an old and valued friend he was hoping to find.

"Another acquaintance said he comes in here ever so often."

That was true, the barkeep affirmed, but not the last few nights. "It's not like Rusty. Him and his pals are usually here for a few beers and a card game, unless they have business out of town."

"And does Rusty tell you when he's going away?"

"Yeah, he does. See, I get a special keg of beer for him. He likes this one that comes from up north. Don't favor it myself, but he pays extra to have it shipped in. So he tells me if he's going to be gone a week, and maybe either I won't order a fresh keg, or if there's some left in the one we have, I'll take it downstairs and put it on ice 'til he comes back."

"You're one heck of a fine bartender," Artemus beamed.

The man blushed. "Well, I gotta admit Rusty slips me a few bucks to take care of him like that."

"Since I'm Rusty's friend, I'm gonna do the same thing." Artie pulled a bill from his wallet. "And do me a favor. If Rusty does come back today, say, don't mention I was asking. I want to surprise him."

Seeing the size of the bill, the bartender happily and speedily agreed. Upon returning to the hotel, Artie handed another bribe to the desk clerk, admonishing him to tell no one, and he meant _no one_ that Mr. Gordon had returned to the hotel. Not even Colonel Richmond. The clerk was someone baffled, but agreed. Artie winked at him. "What the colonel doesn't know won't hurt him, eh?"

"Oh. Oh yes, sir." He was no more enlightened than he had been before.

As Artemus headed for the elevator, he smothered a grin, knowing he had confused the poor clerk even more. He was also certain that the desk clerk would heed his request. James West and Artemus Gordon had stayed in this hotel on previous occasions, so this clerk was aware of other strange goings-on.

Upon reaching his room, Artemus locked the door. He stripped off his jacket, opened his collar, and moved the room's two oil lamps to the dressing table with the mirror. Placing his tubes and sticks in a strategic order, he pulled other items out of his makeup kit. Lastly, he placed a photograph against the mirror.

Lloyd Morris had produced that photograph out of a file which contained other information about Theo Gaskin. The picture was several years old, but Artemus could easily see how his disguise the other night had caused those four men to believe that Gaskin had returned to San Francisco, especially in the smoky light of the barroom. The darkness of the alley had not helped either.

_I need to look even more like Gaskin than I did that night. _The photograph showed him a mole on Gaskin's cheek, and that the man's right eyelid drooped slightly. Because of the age of the photo, chances were the eyelid sagged even more now, or had when he had last been in this area. Artemus Gordon worked slowly and carefully, leaning close to the mirror. _This may be the most important disguise I've ever created_, he told himself. _Jim's life—perhaps even my life—may depend on it_.

The problem was going to be Gaskin's voice and mannerisms. Rusty and his friends had not given him an opportunity to speak, let alone reveal his disguise. If this ploy worked, Artemus knew he was going to have to talk as well as try to be convincing with his movements and stance. The beating would help to some extent; no one should be surprised if he was hunched and hobbled.

The knock on the door was not surprising. Hearing the firm footsteps in the hallway Artie had turned down the lamps. He waited quietly, ignoring the call of "Artemus, are you in there?" and after a second knock the footsteps moved away. _Good thing the colonel's room is on another floor. Be easier to sneak out. I'm probably going to catch hell after this, if I live through it; and maybe even if I don't!_

W*W*W*W*W

His next visitor was a surprise to Jim, though as he thought about it later, he knew he should not have been astonished that Harry Hazeltine came to see him. The lawyer instructed the guard who let him in to wait outside, and when the man hesitated, barked a command which the guard obeyed, though still obviously reluctant. Jim suspected the men had received specific orders from Beryl Kingston, and perhaps were unsure of Hazeltine's status.

Jim had been standing at the window, staring down at the gate and the lane, willing his partner or the police or anyone to arrive. He refused to believe that Artemus was accepting the shanghaiing story, but he also was uncertain what Artie could do. He might have difficulty convincing other officials to help him. Jim had to admit he was unsure about the colonel, who at times could be very flexible, yet on other occasions was a strict military man.

_It might be up to Artie alone… and of course whatever I can manage to do._

Hearing the click of the door lock, he had turned, expecting the lavender-eyed woman, or perhaps a guard bringing more food. It was close to dinnertime. Instead, the bearded, nattily attired attorney entered, followed by the sentry, whom he summarily dismissed. Jim stood still and waited as Hazeltine took a few steps toward him.

"Mr. West, I trust you are comfortable."

Jim merely gazed at him, hoping to impart his opinion of such an inane comment. The ploy worked, for after a few moments, Hazeltine's complexion darkened, and he cleared his throat.

"I wanted to tell you that your capture and imprisonment were carried out against my advice. Mrs. Kingston can be a headstrong woman."

Now Jim spoke in a quiet, almost unemotional tone. "I expect she'd have to be to run a gang of cutthroat murderers."

The remark did not appear to faze Hazeltine. "I also want to mention that I am completely unarmed. I took care to remove everything from my person that might be used as a weapon or as a means of escaping."

Jim shook his head slightly. "You expected me to attack you?"

"I know your reputation, Mr. West. You are not usually a man who simply sits back and awaits whatever might come."

"What do you want, Mr. Hazeltine?"

"I came—without Mrs. Kingston's awareness—to recommend that you surrender and yield to her wishes."

"Why?"

"To save your life, of course. Beryl will have you killed if you continue to reject her demands."

"No, I mean why did you come here, against her wishes and knowledge?"

"Because I think it's in all of our best interests to move on rapidly."

"By moving on, you mean leaving this area?"

"Possibly even the country. Beryl is headstrong, she's also very stubborn at times. I've been trying to convince her that even if the authorities accept the ruse that you have been shanghaied, they are not necessarily going to drop the investigation that you initiated. I'm aware of the loyalty—as well as the brilliance—of your partner, Mr. Gordon. My recommendation is that we move our operations to another country, at least for awhile."

"You're worried about yourself, Mr. Hazeltine? I could tell you that thus far, no evidence has been found to link you to the ring, other than your close friendship with Mrs. Kingston, and the fact that you were Gerald Kingston's lawyer."

The attorney's smile was tight. "There you have it, Mr. West. I am a lawyer. I am quite aware how loose ends can be tied up, roping in all parties. Occasionally some escape, but not often enough to suit me. No, I'm ready and willing to leave."

Jim folded his arms across his chest. "Taking me with you?"

He did not have to explain what he inferred. "I'm also aware, Mr. West, that Beryl is infatuated—fascinated—by you. It began some time ago when you and Mr. Gordon participated in another case in this area and stories were printed in the newspaper. Sight unseen, Beryl started fantasizing having you in our midst. Now that she's met you…. But I think I can hold my own, primarily because I'm of the opinion that you have little interest in her, especially now that you are aware of the truth about Beryl Kingston."

_Which won't stop me from playing up to her if it aids my escape!_ "Surely you know she's insane."

Hazeltine merely nodded. "It runs in her family. Her grandfather was hanged for murdering three men. Her mother killed two of her own children and herself. Beryl escaped merely because she had disobeyed her father and gone to play with some friends. Her father knew of the possibility of madness in her, but he doted on her, his only surviving child." Here the lawyer paused, shook his head slightly.

"What happened?" Jim asked despite himself. He knew more remained of the story.

"Beryl's father objected to her marrying Gerald, despite that Gerald was a wealthy man. He was more than twice Beryl's age, of course. So… Beryl killed her father. Poisoned his whiskey with a drug that simulates a heart attack. As you may be aware, Beryl knows quite a bit about drugs. She studied the subject intensively. She knew that the one she used on you yesterday would paralyze your limbs but you would remain conscious long enough to get you into the carriage, so as to make it look like you were entering willingly and avoid any semblance of a scene in a public place."

Jim was quiet a long moment, absorbing what he had just heard. "And you're willing to chance she might use some of her expertise on you?"

The lawyer smiled. "Beryl is headstrong, and insane, but she's also very smart. She knows how important I am to her organization."

"I presume you recruited the gang of killers."

"Many of them, yes. Started some years ago after I became Gerald's attorney. It began when I became aware that something in his financial situation wasn't quite right, and when I confronted him, he told me the truth, intending, I'm sure, to kill me if I objected. I'm rather smart myself, Mr. West. I am a good lawyer, a successful one, but I'd never accrue the kind of money being an attorney that I could working along with Gerald, and later Beryl."

"Mr. Hazeltine, you have not yet explained the reason for your visit."

"Haven't I? I suppose it's this. I suggest you yield and join Beryl's… company. You'll be killed if you don't. By participating willingly, you will become a rich man. But I also suggest you rebuff any advances Beryl makes toward you. Because I will kill you if you don't."

Jim chuckled, and seeing the startled expression on his visitor's face, explained. "Looks to me as though I would have been better off had I actually been shanghaied. The way you explain it, Beryl will kill me if I reject her, and you'll kill me if I don't!"

Hazeltine's stare turned into a glare. "It's up to you, Mr. West. I know you to be a clever man. I suggest you use that cleverness to remain alive. But I also suggest you do not attempt to escape. Beryl detests disloyalty. She thought that Gerald was being disloyal by attempting to disband the company."

"I see what you mean. Then I suppose I should offer you my gratitude, Mr. Hazeltine."

"Don't bother. I agree with Beryl on one aspect. Your talents, as well as your knowledge, will be great assets. However, you have far to go to prove yourself."

Jim did not respond as Hazeltine spun to go back to the barred door, reaching through to pound on the wooden door. It was opened immediately and without a backwards glance, Hazeltine departed.

_I think he's a bit off his rocker himself! _Not in the same way Beryl was mad, Jim decided, but in the manner in which numerous criminals appeared to be mentally unbalanced, unable to live an honest life, and certain that they were smarter and in some ways more morally correct that those who did follow the straight and narrow. Miguelito Loveless came to mind. Jim had to smile slightly. _Suppose Beryl Kingston met Loveless. What a pair that would be!_

He returned to the window and his vigil, watching the road and gate down below. He was quite aware that if Artie did come, he might not arrive by the front door. In fact, chances were he would try to find a different way in. Of course, Artemus might try one of his famous disguises, but which one would get him through the gate to gain access into the house…

Jim West's heart seemed to momentarily stop beating as the realization hit him like a sledgehammer. _Oh, no, Artie! You can't do that! The orders are to kill Theo Gaskin if he reappears!_

W*W*W*W*W

"Ugh!"

Artemus allowed himself to loudly express the jolt of pain as the wagon bounced in and out of a rut and continued on at a rapid pace. He was, after all, Theo Gaskin, and so far as his captors knew, Theo was still recovering from the beating of a few days ago. _In truth, so am I!_ He planned to use the discomfort of his injuries to help his disguise along once they reached Kingston Hall.

He had no doubt that was where they were headed, even though he could not see much in the darkness beyond the high sides of the wagon. So far the ruse was working. In disguise, he had again visited the bar where he had encountered Rusty and his friends the first time. A different bartender was on duty than on either previous visit and that worked out well, because Artemus was able to ask his questions without arousing undue suspicion.

That bartender also said that Rusty had not been in the last few nights, but he had heard that the man was seen at a bar a few blocks down the street. The barkeep seemed a bit put out that a regular had deserted. Artemus purchased a shot of whiskey and drank it so as to have alcohol on his breath, then headed for the other establishment.

Luck was with him, for Rusty was there with two of his friends. Artemus, as Theo, pretended not to see them, going to the bar to purchase a bottle of cheap whiskey, then carrying it to a table. He had barely poured a drink when he was joined by the trio, who pulled out chairs and sat down uninvited.

"Never knew you was so stupid, Theo," Rusty growled. "Always heard you was a pretty sharp tack." He still wore the knit cap and his wild red hair still poked out from underneath it.

Artie kept his chin down on his chest. "Go 'way. I don't want no more trouble. I just wancha tuh take me to see th' boss." He allowed his words to slur, hoping that none of these men had known Gaskin well enough to recognize his voice. Rusty's words had indicated he had not been well acquainted.

"The boss don't wanna see you," another of the men snapped. "We got orders…"

"I gotta big deal," Artie interrupted. "Big, big deal. She wants to talk to me. Big money. Politician type, y'know."

"In Canada?" Rusty inquired, sounding somewhat incredulous. Also, the use of the feminine pronoun had not fazed him.

_Glad you told me_. "Yeah. Canada. Big mucky-muck. Big deal. Big money. I gotta see the boss."

He did not lift his head as a long silence ensued. He knew the men were looking at each other, trying to make up their minds whether to believe him or not, and what to do about it. Rusty finally asked, "Where you been the last couple days, Theo?"

"Hosh… hos… hoshpital. You boys hurt me pretty bad. Di'n't give no time to talk. Big deal. Lotsa money. Maybe reward."

"Reward?" one of the men echoed.

Artie barely glanced up. "You take me to the boss. She'll be happy. Lotsa money."

The silence was a little different this time. Although Artemus still did not raise his gaze, he could picture the men exchanging glances, this time considering the bonus they might receive. Finally Rusty spoke.

"Guess it won't hurt to take him out there. He can be killed there just as easy."

When "Theo" protested that he did not have a horse, and could not ride anyway, the men had "found" a wagon at a livery stable, or so they said. One man stayed with him while the other two went off and returned with the wagon. Their horses were tied behind it as they headed out of the city.

A full moon was coming up over the horizon, and Artie knew the landscape would soon be well lit. No fog again tonight, at least not in this area. Might come in handy later, if plans went as he hoped. None of these men had mentioned Jim yet. They may or may not even know that he was at Kingston Hall… _if_ he was at Kingston Hall. _Think positive, Artemus. Think positive. He has to be there. _

Because the wagon was slow, the trip to Kingston Hall consumed nearly twice as long as on horseback. Artie did not dare pull out his watch, but he suspected the hour was close to midnight. Yet, as the wagon pulled in through the gate, after being cleared by the ever-present guard, he saw that lights were blazing inside.

When Rusty pulled him out of the wagon bed, Artemus again did not need to feign the pain he experienced. Not as bad as when he had first awakened in the hospital a couple of days ago, but still sharp. The doctor today told him that although the rib seemed to be knitting well, he should still be careful.

The butler, Chase, opened the door, apparently hearing the commotion outside. He stared openmouthed for a moment as Artie stumbled up the stairs, Rusty and another man on either side, grasping his arms. Then the butler stepped back to allow them to enter.

"Mrs. Kingston is in the first parlor," he said briskly. _He recognizes Theo too_, Artie decided.

Artie allowed the two men to drag him along, mumbling drunkenly and trying to resist. Chase hurried ahead to open the door to the room, and apparently give advance warning, for when they entered. Artemus glanced up for just a moment. Beryl Kingston was on her feet, beautiful face a mask of rage, eyes like glittering stones.

"Gaskin! What the devil are you doing here? You were warned!"

Rusty released Artie's arm and stepped aside slightly, pulling off the knit cap. His wiry hair sprang out like a porcupine's quills. "Miz Kingston, he says he came back on account of he has a job for us… you."

"Job?" She came closer. Artie kept his head down, continuing to sway slightly on his feet. He was aware that someone else was in the room, but he did not look up to see who it was. "What kind of job, Theo?" Artie mumbled something. "What?" She grabbed his hair with her hand, jerking his head up. "This isn't Theo Gaskin!"

"Huh?"

"What?"

The three men who had accompanied Artie all exclaimed at the same time.

A new voice entered the conversation, coming closer. Artemus recognized Harry Hazeltine. "What do you mean, Beryl? Looks like Gaskin to me."

She was staring at Artie's face, still holding onto his thick hair. "Look at his eyes! Theo's eyes are gray. Who…?" A satisfied smile flattened her lovely mouth. "Of course. I have heard of your famous disguises, Mr. Gordon. I certainly can see why my men mistook you for Theo." Now she released his hair, but grabbed hold of one of the bushy sideburns, yanking it off.

Artie smiled in return. "That stings." He straightened his body, and carefully removed the other sideburn. "Good evening, Mrs. Kingston. Nice to see you again."

For a long moment, Beryl Kingston was silent, just gazing at him. Then she shook her head slightly. "I never heard that Artemus Gordon was insane. So there must be a reason for this."

"A man needs a reason to visit a beautiful woman?"

Hazeltine was alongside Beryl now. "Don't mess with him, Beryl. Let the boys take him out and get rid of him. They can dump his body in the bay…"

Beryl was waving a hand. "No, no. I know of a better use for Mr. Gordon. Obviously he's looking for his late partner. Do you believe in ghosts, Artemus?"

"Indeed I do," Artie replied enthusiastically.

"Search him," Beryl ordered.

W*W*W*W*W

He had had some problem falling asleep, partly due to the brightness of the moon shining through all the unshaded windows, or so it seemed, and also due to the fact that he had been so sedentary all day long. Jim had just started to doze off when he heard the lock on the outer door rattle. He did not move other than to turn his head slightly so as to see the door.

Beryl Kingston entered first, followed by Artemus Gordon, attired in the same ragtag outfit he had been wearing the night he had been assaulted in San Francisco. Jim slowly sat up and rolled his legs off the divan, but did not stand up.

"Hello, Artie," he said casually.

"James, good to see you again. Seems the sea air agreed with you."

"Nothing like an ocean voyage to rejuvenate one," Jim remarked, now getting lazily to his feet. Rusty and two other men had followed Beryl into the room, all three holding weapons.

Beryl left Artie's side and crossed the moonlit room to Jim, taking his arm. "Isn't it lovely that your dear friend came to join you, James? Now I _know_ you'll want to accept my proposition, to keep Artemus happy… and healthy."

"You have a point there," Jim murmured. He wondered about the complacent expression on his partner's face. What in the world was Artemus up to?

"For now," Beryl said happily, "Artemus will have to share your quarters. I'm sure after you two discuss your situation, you'll be ready to move to your own room downstairs, James, and leave the penthouse to Artemus."

"Say," Artie cried, "that's not very fair!"

"I'm sorry, Artemus. Once James explains the situation to you, I'm sure you'll understand. Good night to the both of you. I'll see you at breakfast."

The barred door and the wooden one were both closed and locked. Jim sank down on the sofa, drawing one leg up. "Artemus, I think you've got things a little mixed up. You are supposed to _rescue_ me, not join me!"

With an exaggerated motion of his arm, Artemus snapped his finger while he strolled toward the front windows. "I _knew_ I was forgetting something. Quite a luxurious penthouse view, James." He turned from the window. "A little sparse on furnishings, though."

"And the sofa is mine, pal. I got first dibs."

"Hmm, floor looks nice and soft. I take it dear Beryl is pressuring you to join their little corporation."

"Yep. And now she has you to hold over my head. You disguised yourself as Gaskin again? Are you crazy?"

"Crazy, I _hope_, like a fox, partner. What's the situation here. Bars look pretty solid."

"They are. Nice cozy little prison cell."

"You haven't made an escape attempt? I'm surprised at you. Getting soft in your old age?" Artie sat down on the other end of the couch.

"My teeth aren't up to chewing through steel bars. That's about the only weapon I have left. I have some explosive clay, but no fuse and no match anyway."

"Tsk, tsk. Didn't I teach you better than that?" Artie looked toward the barred door. "Any chance we'll have a surprise visit?"

"I can't promise it, but it seems unlikely. Why? What do you have in mind? They searched you, didn't they?"

"Quite thoroughly… almost."

Jim grinned. "What did they miss?"

"I have some tape in my jacket collar and matches in my boot heels."

"Enough to cut through those bars?"

Artie's face took on some doubt. "I don't know, Jim. They are pretty thick. Maybe in conjunction with your clay. Next question is… which way do we go?"

"Pretty much has to be out the door, Artie. I'm pretty sure we'd have a long jump if we went out the window. No trees near enough to grab, and I don't remember seeing any vines or handholds of any sort."

"That's my impression as well. How many men are here?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know. I've seen three or four different ones bringing my meals… and the three who escorted you up here tonight were not among those."

"So we can count on at least a half dozen and probably more. Seems to me we need to tiptoe out of here and hope that Lloyd was able to talk Richmond into following me."

"You came out here without the colonel's knowledge?"

"You know he wouldn't have gone for it, Jim. I'm pretty sure he thinks you are long gone, or even dead, buying the shanghaiing story. I talked it over with Lloyd. He couldn't follow me to the bar where I met Rusty and his friends, but I was certain where I'd be taken…"

"If you weren't murdered in the city."

"Well, there was that possibility. But I arranged for Lloyd to go see Richmond and tell him this evening… too late for the colonel to do anything about it. The plan is to get some help from the army and come on out here. But…"

"But you don't know, first, if Richmond will go along with it, or be too angry to be reasoned with, whether the army will cooperate, whether…"

"Yeah, little things like that."

Jim West sighed noisily. "Artemus, one day you are going to be the death of me. And probably yourself."

Artie grinned. "But we sure have a lot of fun, don't we?"

Jim could only chuckle. "Yeah, there's that. What's the layout outside the door there? Stairs?"

His partner looked at him in some surprise. "You don't know?"

"I was unconscious when they brought me up here." Jim realized Artemus had no idea how that had happened, so he explained briefly. "I know I might have been naïve, but it never occurred to me that she would do anything so bold in broad daylight, in the middle of a city street."

"Beryl Kingston is very clever, Jim."

"She's also insane. I think that's what bothered me from the very beginning. I was… struck by her beauty, yet something seemed to be amiss. She sees nothing wrong with murdering people she never met just to gain money."

"She must have pretty high overhead with all the people on her payroll."

"Yeah. She had Gerald Kingston killed because he wanted to quit the business and enjoy his ill-gotten gain."

"And now," Artie said, nodding, "she wants you to replace Gerald."

"Seems so. Now that you're here, I'm pretty sure she thinks she has a hammer to hold over my head."

"Ah," Artemus grinned, "but she doesn't know you as well as I do, huh?" He laughed, drawing a grin and a shake of the head from his partner. Then both sobered as Artie said, "We need to figure out what we're going to do, Jim. Morning is going to come all too soon."

Jim pushed himself off the sofa and walked to the front window, leaning as closely to the bars as he could. "Earlier, I could see some light on the ground below, which I figured came from the lamps in the front parlor. It's gone now. Which may indicate everyone has turned in."

"Or it may not," Artie countered, getting to his feet. "However, we have to take some chances, the way I look at it."

"Exactly." Gripping a bar with one hand, Jim lifted his foot to push the heel of his boot aside and extract a lump of claylike material. He did the same with the other heel, as Artemus pulled off his jacket to begin slipping long and slender strips from under the collar and lapel. He also produced several short matches from his boot heels.

"How much fuse do you have?" Jim inquired.

Artemus stretched out a coil that he had brought out along with the chemical tape. "Probably a half hour total here. What do you have in mind?"

Jim explained his ideas and his partner concurred. They would use the chemical tape to burn through the bars—Artemus stating frankly that they might need to double the tape because of the thickness of the iron and thus the exit space could be pretty narrow—then a small portion of the clay to burst the lock on the outer wooden door. The remainder of the clay would be left on the floor of the room, with what was left of the fuse burning. The subsequent explosion would serve as a distraction in one form or another.

The biggest problem turned out to be detaching a portion of the fuse to use on the door, because neither had a knife. Bending it back and forth innumerable times then standing on it while pulling finally separated a short piece. Artemus laid it and a small chunk of clay aside while he carefully placed the chemical tape over the bars.

They had estimated the need to remove a section of at least three bars in order for them to squeeze through. The bars were three or four inches apart. Jim tried to convince Artie to go for four because the wrapping around his chest and midriff was going to add to his girth, and it could be difficult as well as painful for him to squeeze through. Artemus adamantly refused.

"Not until we see how much we need to burn through these bars. I wonder what the devil this room was constructed to hold. A gorilla?"

"That was in Kansas," Jim reminded him dryly, and quickly informed him of what Beryl had told him of the history of this house.

"Nothing like a handy little tower jail," Artie returned. "You never know when you're going to have to imprison a guest."

He stepped back from the bars, producing a match from his shirt pocket. "Ready?"

"As much as I'll ever be," Jim nodded.

Artemus ignited the match, then quickly held it to ends of the tape stretched across the bars in two areas. Both men stepped back, turning their heads slightly so as to not gaze directly at the garish illumination caused by the burning chemicals. The room filled with the acrid odor as the flame crossed the tape and died.

Jim quickly stepped forward and rammed his forearm across the bars. "Damn! Artie, they aren't giving!" He slammed the bars again and they didn't budge.

"Ah, Mr. West," Artemus said, using his best Scots burr, "ne'er let it be said that a Gordon is not parsimonious!" He produced more of the tape from inside his shirt. "Got enough here for one more try, though single not double."

"Think it'll be enough?" He thought about chewing his partner out for causing the moment of despair, but decided it would be futile. Artie would be Artie.

The process was repeated and this time when Jim shoved the bars, they gave, though not without some resistance. They had not burned all the way through. However, the space was wide enough for Jim to slide through. He turned to help his partner. Artie first lit the fuse of the ball of explosive clay on the floor and then wriggled through, trying to hide the discomfort it caused. Jim's expression revealed he was not entirely successful, but neither said anything.

The next step was to carefully arrange the smaller ball of clay around the door lock, then light it and step to the side. The explosion was a mere "poof!" but was enough to fracture the mechanism, especially when Jim slammed against the door with his foot. They stepped cautiously out onto the landing ahead of the darkened stairwell, and listened. The house was very quiet.

"We've got about twenty minutes before the second explosion goes off," Artie whispered.

"Then let's go."

Once they started down the stairs they left the moonlight behind, and the darkness became complete, making it necessary to grasp the narrow handrail tightly while carefully taking one stair at a time. Jim was in front, and he bumped into the door. A moment later, Artemus bumped into him.

Grasping the doorknob, Jim held his breath, hoping it was not locked, knowing they would have to make quite a bit of noise to break it open if it was. But the latch turned easily, and quietly. It opened into a broader hallway lit by lamps in wall sconces.

"Stairs are to the left," Artie said softly.

They entered a wide hallway, with a thick, plush carpet. Lamps in wall sconces were turned low, but provided enough illumination to view a number of closed doors. The two men did not speak as they slowly walked toward the stairs. Having no knowledge of who was sleeping behind those closed doors, they did not want arouse anyone. They were unarmed, and if Beryl's men slept here in the house, those men would definitely have weapons.

Reaching the main floor without incident, they carefully and quietly unlocked and opened the front door, peeking out through a crack. Down the lane, a light was glowing in the guard's little shack.

"I was hoping they just locked the place up at night," Artie muttered.

"No sign of the cavalry," Jim said. The opposite side of the road was a thick stand of trees. "If we can get by that guard, we can go through the woods, maybe find some help on the other side."

"Unless the other side opens onto a sheer cliff over the ocean, or an impassable creek," his partner groused.

Jim just laughed softly. They stepped out onto the porch, each ducking behind a pillar on either side. "One of us needs to try to scale the fence and get around the guard," he said, then grinned as Artie made a "be my guest" gesture.

Using some of the overgrown shrubbery as shelter, the two men made their way from point to point across the broad yard, occasionally looking back toward the house, seeing no sign of activity there. _If we can overpower the guard,_ Jim mused, _we should be able to get a weapon or two._ He knew they had to do it without any noise. The explosion should be going off within about ten minutes, and with any luck, the ensuing confusion would give them a good head start.

Reaching a point behind a large bush about ten feet and to the right of the locked gate, Jim nodded to Artemus, and then made a quick and quiet dash for the iron fence. His momentum allowed him to leap for the top rail and hoist himself up, avoiding the few "spear-like" ornaments at the top of the railing. The moonlight permitted him to see that he inadvertently had chosen a spot where the ground on the other side was filled with loose rock.

That meant slowing down, lowering himself over the other side cautiously so as not to disturb the rocks and make no sound that would alert the guard. Chances were good that the guard was dozing, but in the silence of this rural area, the noise a rolling rock might make could easily arouse him.

Artemus watched from behind the bush and briefly wondered why his partner hesitated once he was atop the iron fence. He quickly figured it out though, as he saw Jim grasp the top rail and vertical bars to lower himself slowly and carefully. Something on the ground on the other side was causing the slowdown.

_Maybe we would have been smarter to try to find Beryl's room and take her hostage. Then again, we could have opened a couple of wrong doors and gotten ourselves in deep trouble. No, getting away from here as soon as possible was the best strategy right now. We're unarmed, and could be facing ten or a dozen men if detected._ He glanced back toward the darkened house. Only a pale glow showed in the second floor window that opened off the hallway lit by sconces. _That bomb is going to detonate very soon!_

Reaching the ground, Jim immediately dropped into a crouch and waited a few moments, listening. No sound came from the kiosk about ten feet from him. Still moving cautiously, he stepped out onto the grass that was growing between the rocky area and the road, and moved slowly toward the guardhouse.

The one thing that had not occurred to either of them was that the guard might change during the night. Hearing a sound, Artemus looked around and saw a man carrying a rifle emerge from around the side of the house, striding toward the lane that would lead him to the gate and the guardhouse.

Too late to warn Jim. Knowing calling out might alert others, Artemus moved around the bush, keeping himself out of view as the replacement guard neared. As soon as the man passed by him, he stepped out, grabbed the fellow's arm to jerk him around, and slammed a fist into his chin. With a grunt, the man stumbled backwards, the rifle falling from his hands as he dropped to the ground, unconscious.

His motions were not silent, however. In stumbling, he had not only kicked a rock but then fell through a small dried bush which crackled. Artie ducked back behind his original bush as he heard a sound from the guardhouse.

"Who's there?" the man who stepped out of the small building called, though he did not yell loudly. "That you, Jed?"

_Maybe he's been chastised before for waking the house needlessly. _Jim had heard the commotion himself, and he froze for a moment, waiting to hear who responded to the sentry's call. When no one did and the man walked toward the gate, holding a rifle and peering toward the house, Jim moved. Unwittingly his actions duplicated those of his partner, as he seized the guard's arm to spin him, and hit him with a hard right. This man was of a burly build, however, and though staggered, he did not immediately go down, trying to bring his gun about.

Jim grabbed the barrel of the gun and jerked it. The rifle went off, firing harmlessly into the trees beyond. Harmless in that it did not hit human flesh. But not so harmless because the noise would arouse the house. A second blow to the middle and another to the chin brought the man down. Jim quickly picked up the rifle and searched the guard for the keys. Finding them, he dashed to the gate, calling to his partner. Only then did he see the man sprawled in the dirt alongside the wide path.

As soon as the gate was open, Artie dashed through. They locked it behind them, aware that other keys were undoubtedly available, but also realizing that having to unlock the portal again would slow down pursuit. The two men ran across the dirt road and plunged into the woods there. They had gone perhaps a hundred feet when the explosion rocked the house behind them. The shouts they heard revealed that the blast had added to the confusion caused by the gunshot, as anticipated.

"Let's go, let's go," Artie urged, as they had paused to look back upon hearing the sound.

"Wish to hell we knew where this leads," Jim panted.

"Away from Beryl and her men," Artie replied. "That's all that counts right now."

They kept running, conscious now of the different tone to the sounds back at the house. Someone was barking commands, apparently raising a posse to pursue them. However, when Artemus stumbled on a root and tumbled to the ground with a sharp groan of pain, they had to stop a moment as an anxious Jim helped him to his feet.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Artie insisted, steeling himself against the sharp pain in his chest. _Have I damaged that rib?_

"Artie, look!" Jim was facing back towards the house and road, and Artemus turned that way. The moon was filtering through the thick trees and brush to some extent, but it was very dark. Through that darkness, they could now see an orange glow.

"The explosion set the house afire," Artie muttered. "I wondered if that would happen. Well, that should bring company. I assume there's a volunteer fire department out here somewhere."

"Might work to our advantage," Jim concurred, "but we'd better keep moving." From the yells and some other sounds, the posse was obviously taking up the pursuit. "You sure you're okay?" In the faint light, Jim saw the shiny perspiration on his partner's face and wondered if his complexion was not more pallid.

"I'm fine," Artemus assured him. "Come on." _No more falls, Artemus. You might do it for good and all. _He knew he would have a difficult time convincing Jim to leave him if indeed he became incapacitated.

Clutching their rifles, the pair continued onward, trying to keep to a steady course that would take them directly through the woods, but with the darkness and the need for haste, Jim was unsure if that was what they were doing. He remembered Artemus's remark about coming to a sheer cliff or an unfordable waterway. _We don't know this area at all. Could be a creek ahead. But I doubt there's any cliffs… though the ocean is somewhere out there… I hope not!_ These woods were extremely thick, apparently untended and unused. In this portion, no evidence revealed that any trees had been downed for firewood or lumber or anything else.

At least their pursuers were running into the same difficulties as they were, dealing with the thick brush and lack of light. The two agents could hear shouts and occasional angry curses or questions. Someone appeared to be giving orders, but it also sounded as though those orders were being disputed.

_That's good,_ Artie decided. _Might slow them down._ A couple of times he glanced backwards and saw that the glow from the burning house was brighter and brighter. The whole place was going, it seemed. An unintended consequence, but Artemus did not feel any remorse. With her residence in flames, Beryl Kingston might have other things to think of. _Odd that she sent her men after us instead of keeping them to fight the fire._ Then again, Beryl would be a difficult woman to predict.

Both men were panting heavily when they came upon a small stream, with a bed about four feet wide although the width of the water flowing through it was probably only a foot or so. Jim estimated they had gone at least a half a mile, but then again, distance was difficult to judge when traveling through the thick copse. They took turns getting water, and while Artie was kneeling down to drink, Jim checked his rifle.

"Looks like I have about six shells in here," he commented.

Artemus ejected the bullets from his. "Four. Great. Would have thought they'd keep their rifles fully loaded." He looked around as he automatically reloaded. "Jim, I'm getting the impression these woods are a lot deeper than we anticipated."

"Yeah. I know. How about we follow the stream awhile? But first…" He stepped across the water, up onto the opposite bank, and crashed through some brush there, creating some very visible broken twigs and branches, as well as some footprints in the soft soil. Then he carefully arced back, stepping on piles of leaves and needles, or a fallen branch, so as not to leave any returning signs. When he got back to the other side, the two men wordlessly headed upstream, north, toward the town of Daly City.

"Richmond must have been difficult to convince," Jim said as they slowed to skirt around some brambles growing alongside the stream.

"He'll be here," Artie spoke firmly. "Might be taking awhile to get the army out of the Presidio. At least the colonel still has his rank."

"But the Presidio has a general," Jim reminded him.

"When did that ever stop James Richmond?" Artie cracked.

"Wait a minute," Jim said, halting his steps and reaching out to grab his partner's arm to stop his movements. "Listen."

They could hear a low rumbling sound. Horses. "The army or the fire department?" Artemus wondered softly.

"Artie," Jim said briskly, "let's head back toward the house. Circle around."

For a moment Artemus was astounded by the suggestion. Then he realized what his partner meant. Whether the sound they heard was the approach of the cavalry from the Presidio in San Francisco, with Richmond at their head, or the local volunteer fire department, they would at least have allies. "Let's go."

Although they slowed their pace compared to what they had used escaping from the house, the going was no less difficult, requiring pushing through brush and thickets, sometimes with thorns grabbing at their clothing and skin. The only relief was the awareness that the sounds of the shouting pursuers were farther away. With any luck, that group of men had crossed the stream and were still going.

When they finally neared the road, they slowed even more, remaining hidden from the view of anyone at or near the blazing building. The trees and other growth around the house and yard made it difficult to see just what was going on inside the fencing. Lights were illuminated in neighboring homes, with the residents aroused probably first by the explosion, and then the fire and commotion. A few people, mostly men in dressing gowns, were out on the road peering through the fence.

"I think it was the fire brigade," Artie muttered. "Doesn't look like they are going to be able to do much to save the house." The flames were shooting skyward and in all directions. Every time a wall or a beam fell, sparks emanated like fireworks.

"It doesn't matter. I have the money."

Both men whirled to see the woman standing a half dozen feet behind them. She was attired in a velvet robe over her nightclothes. The robe appeared black in the moonlight. And she held a double-barreled shotgun pointed right at them.

"I thought you might be coming back," Beryl Kingston said pleasantly. Her dark hair flowed over her shoulders like a glowing silken river. "Drop your weapons."

"Beryl," Jim said quietly, "it's all over. You should surrender. It'll go easier on you."

"Surrender! Why? I haven't lost anything except that stupid house. I told you, I have the money. Thousands and thousands of dollars and everything else I need. The three of us can set up headquarters elsewhere, just as I was explaining to you earlier, James."

"The three of us?" Artemus echoed. "You're including me in your plans now?"

"Why certainly. You proved your brilliance and courage tonight. I had heard of both of you, and now I'm suitably impressed. We can set up a worldwide organization."

"If we're going to be working together," Jim spoke pleasantly, "why do you want to disarm us?"

She sighed in exasperation. "Because I don't know if I can trust you yet. But that will be taken care of. That little drug I used on you was not the only pharmaceutical knowledge I possess. I will administer a poison to each of you, a poison that must be treated at regular intervals, or you'll die. If either of you betray me, the other will not get the antidote. Simple, don't you see? I know about your close friendship, and Mr. Gordon's derring-do tonight proved that as well."

Artemus exchanged a glance with his partner, remembering their discussion earlier about her sanity. Clearly she was mad. She was standing in a dark woods in the middle of the night, clad in her nightclothes while her home was burning to the ground, but confidently planning her future criminal life with two men she could not trust unless she threatened them. The expression on her face was one of complete confidence.

"That might work," Jim said slowly. He wondered about a faint sound he was now hearing, but a louder noise was that of the Beryl's men, who had apparently realized they had been tricked and were now circling back. They might well arrive to assist Beryl, which presented a quandary. Did they stall for time to allow the Army a chance to arrive—if that was the sound he was hearing—or work quickly to overcome Beryl before her men got there.

"What next?" Artemus asked.

"Put your weapons on the ground," Beryl stated. "This scattergun has a very wide range. I can get both of you easily." She lifted her weapon slightly to emphasize her point.

They had no choice at the moment. Both men leaned over to place their rifles at their feet. Beryl was pleased.

"Now, when the fire burns out and people have dispersed, we'll begin our journey. We'll go back into the city, charter a boat and… what's the matter, Artemus?"

Artie had clutched at his midriff, leaning forward slightly, gasping in pain. "My chest—I think the broken rib has pierced my lung…" He was speaking in a very hoarse tone, and as though unable to take a full breath.

Jim grabbed his arm. "Artie!" _I hope to hell this is an act, pal!_ "Here, lay down. Come on." He eased Artemus to the ground, quite conscious that Artemus positioned himself parallel to one of the rifles laying there, his arm partially covering the weapon. Jim experienced a mild sense of relief, yet wondered just what Artie had in mind. That shotgun was dangerous.

Beryl came a little closer, looking down at him. "What's wrong with him?"

"That beating your men gave him when they thought he was Gaskin broke a rib. The doctor warned that undue exertion might cause a problem. Now it seems it has. He'll die if we don't get him some help!"

Beryl's lovely face was thoughtful. "Well, we don't really need him…"

"You need him if you expect my cooperation," Jim shot back. She came a couple steps nearer, very close to Artie's boots.

"Is that true, James?" she asked, her gaze fastened on his face. "I thought you cared for me."

"Regardless," he returned, keeping her attention on him, "you can't expect me to care for you if you let my friend die."

"Jim, help me," Artie moaned.

Jim leaned over his friend, and at the corner of his eye, saw Beryl take another step. He jerked back as Artemus whipped his legs around, catching Beryl Kingston at the ankles. She shrieked, tried to regain her balance, the shotgun flailing wildly. Jim West grabbed at the gun, caught the barrel, and yanked it from her grip.

Artie leaped to his feet to grab Beryl around the waist from behind, pinning her arms as she screamed curses and struggled. Jim was able to kick the rifles out of the way, then he pointed the shotgun. "Remember, Beryl, this scattergun does a lot of damage."

"You won't shoot me with Artemus right behind me!" she challenged.

Artie released her and stepped to one side. "Fire away, ,James."

Beryl's eyes widened. "You wouldn't…!"

"Misbehave and find out. Come on, out to the road. I think we have company coming."

"Now _that_ has to be the colonel," Artie stated, pushing through the brush.

Beryl reluctantly followed, Jim right behind her with the shotgun. The flames from the house were still towering, and between the fire and the moon, visibility was high. The approaching Army men saw them, and Colonel Richmond, on the lead horse alongside Sergeant Lloyd Morris of the San Francisco Police Department, called a halt.

"Colonel," Artemus hurried up to him, "there's a bunch of men coming through the woods. Armed men. Hers."

Richmond turned to the officer behind him. "I suggest you prepare to receive prisoners, Lieutenant Case." As Case began to give orders to his men, Richmond dismounted. "Mr. Gordon. I thought you said you were checking in at the hospital."

"I did, sir." Artemus held himself erect, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in chest and midriff, exacerbated not only by the run through the woods but his recent close encounter with the beautiful woman who rammed a couple of sharp elbows into him while struggling. "The doctor looked me over and changed the wrappings."

"And then you took it upon yourself to be a one man posse to rescue James. Did you think I would forbid you?"

"Well…"

"You're right, I would have. But I could have also told you that virtually every deposit in the Kingston bank account coincides with a murder over the last several years. That information persuaded the judge to issue a search warrant for these premises, presuming some sort of records could have been found." Richmond looked toward the blazing structure. "Not much chance now."

Jim had kept his eyes on Beryl and now he spoke up. "Mrs. Kingston told us she saved her money from the fire, colonel. I suspect she saved more than that. Ask the soldiers to search this area… as soon as they have Beryl's boys in hand."

W*W*W*W*W

"Artemus, how are you feeling?"

"Much, much better, colonel. Thank you." Artemus stepped back from the door to allow Colonel Richmond to enter the train car. "Any news?"

"Quite a bit. Where's Jim?"

"Back taking care of the horses. He'll be here in a few minutes. Care for a drink?"

Artemus saw his commanding officer eye the oval table on which a bottle and a couple of glasses rested. "No, thanks," Richmond said then.

Artie did not smile. He knew that the colonel still had not figured out the trick, and he was not about to reveal it. "I have the wrappings off my chest finally," he said, waving the colonel to a seat on the sofa and taking a chair at the small table. "The bruises are all but gone, though I must admit that if I take too deep a breath, I feel it."

"You were extremely lucky that you did not damage yourself further," Richmond said.

Artemus knew the man well enough to realize that the colonel was still unhappy about the way his agent behaved that day in San Francisco, especially not revealing his plans. The fact that Richmond likely would have vetoed those plans vehemently did not figure into it. Nor did the ultimate successful conclusion.

Jim pushed through the door from the kitchen area just then, wiping his hands with a towel. He was in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, open at the collar, and his hair was damp, probably from splashing water on his face after his exertions with the animals. He stopped. "Colonel! Didn't know you had arrived, sir." He quickly dropped the towel and began to roll down his sleeves, silently wishing he had not left his jacket in his quarters.

Richmond waved a hand. "Sit down, Jim. I just came to give you an update on Mrs. Kingston and her cohorts. And to tell you that you will be suspended two days without pay. Artemus, your suspension will be twice that."

Both agents froze, then exchanged a glance. "What did Jim do?" Artie asked before his partner could speak.

Jim sank into a chair, wracking his brain to remember what he might have done that could have been considered insubordinate or against any rules. This was the first they had spoken to Richmond since that night at Kingston Hall over a week ago. And the first hint that they were up for punishment. _Artie I can understand. But why me?_

"Just on general principles," Richmond said. Clearly he was enjoying this. Both men knew that they had gotten away with quite a lot over the years since James Richmond became head of the service. "You countenanced Artemus's behavior."

"Colonel," Jim said, bewildered, "I didn't even know…"

"Yes, and that's why your punishment is only half of Artemus's. Now, to other business. First, you may be interested to know that when the Navy set out to overtake the clipper that we believed Jim had been shanghaied to, they were unable to catch up to it. So it's a damn good thing that the shanghaiing was a sham. However, they did come across a schooner running without lights that night, and when they summoned her to heave-to, she tried to flee. That one they did run down, and found it full of bootleg whiskey. So in a roundabout way, you helped solve that problem, Jim. For that reason, you'll receive a small bonus in your next pay envelope."

"Th… thank you, sir." James West was more baffled than before. His pay was being docked, but he was receiving a bonus! And he really had nothing to do with either situation!

Artemus looked at Jim, then back at the colonel, half waiting for Richmond to come up with some reason to reward him. _After all, I did rescue Jim and help him round up Beryl Kingston's gang!_

The colonel continued briskly. "You already know that Beryl Kingston shot Harrison Hazeltine before she escaped from the burning building. Happily, one or two of the volunteer firemen were aware of the value of some of the contents of the house, and rescued a number of valuable art objects. But of course the huge bonus is that with the records that Mrs. Kingston so helpfully stashed along with the money she was rescuing from the fire, we are tracking down the people who paid to have relatives or acquaintances murdered for one reason or another, including the man in Seattle who arranged to have Alex Byram murdered because Byram was instrumental in prosecuting his son and having him hanged. "

"Good," Jim said. "I presume Irving Condit is on that list."

"Yes, and perhaps surprisingly, also Lydia. She wasn't married to Condit at the time, but chances are she not only persuaded him to go through with the murder for hire, but put him in touch with the Kingston gang. She was working in a dive on the Barbary Coast when she met him. In any case, warrants have been issued and arrests are being made. Going to be a massive operation, bringing all these folks to trial—including Theo Gaskin once we have him extradited from Canada. Beryl's papers also implicated Harrison quite fully. His part went far beyond simply recruiting killers from among his grateful clients."

"Have you spoken to Beryl since her arrest?" Artemus asked.

"As a matter of fact, I have. I sat in on an interrogation with the federal attorney. Because several states are involved, the case comes under the federal purview. Police departments are cooperating, of course. But Beryl continues to espouse her innocence, trying to blame Hazeltine, saying that he forced her to cooperate."

Jim shook his head slightly. "I don't buy that for one minute." He knew he would never forget the woman with the amethyst eyes, especially not the gleam of madness he had seen in those eyes.

"No, and neither is the prosecuting attorney. She seems to have forgotten the extensive records, dating back to when Gerald Kingston was in charge, and which plainly indicate her involvement—her willing involvement—right from the beginning when she met him. Always amazes me when criminals keep these sorts of records. And that reminds me. Getting back to that night when you disobeyed orders, Mr. Gordon."

Artie stiffened in his chair. "I didn't disobey, colonel. I went to the hospital…"

"Perhaps not strict disobedience, but certainly a bending of them. What I was going to say was I returned to the hotel, expecting to find you there to tell you I had discerned positive evidence that bank deposits coincided with dates of the murders, and that the judge was drawing up a search warrant." The colonel cleared his throat. "We would have found and rescued Jim without your… er…heroics."

"That's not necessarily true, colonel," Jim said quickly. "Chances are very good that if you and other officers showed up at the front door with warrants, someone would have been dispatched to the tower to… dispatch me."

"Possibly," Richmond replied, displaying no inclination to let the other agent off so easily.

Artemus sat silently, his expression glum. He did not mind so much the four-day suspension. He could always find things with which to occupy himself, perhaps in the lab, or writing overdue reports. Even the docked pay could be borne. In fact, he was unsure why he was feeling so down about the business. He had twisted the rules a bit. Richmond had every right to discipline him, despite the successful conclusion of the case. Still…

"Colonel," Jim spoke quietly, "I think it is unfair that you are punishing Artemus twice as hard as me."

Artie's head twisted around to look at his partner, then quickly back to the colonel, expecting to see grim anger on Richmond's countenance. Instead, the colonel was gazing at Jim thoughtfully. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I should double your suspension."

"No!" Artemus cried, standing up. "Colonel, Jim did nothing wrong. He was in great peril, in Beryl Kingston's clutches. She's a crazy woman, and who knows what she would have done to him!"

"Maybe. But it was very careless of him to get kidnapped in the first place."

Artie stared at his supervisor. Why was Richmond being so unreasonable? Slowly he sat down again. _Did he have a fight with his wife and is taking it out on us? Mrs. Richmond is a lovely lady, but she is a bit headstrong at times. _

"Colonel Richmond," Jim said then, "I want to officially request that the penalties be reversed. After all, if I had not gotten myself captured, Artie would not have felt it necessary to… to bend the rules and rescue me."

"No, Jim!" Artie protested. He was about to say more when he abruptly noticed that their commander was grinning from ear to ear. "Colonel?" Jim was gaping as well.

Richmond got to his feet. "There are no suspensions, gentlemen. No docking of pay. I just wanted to see how you would react… and allow it to stand as something of a warning for the next time." He sighed noisily, shaking his head. "Although I suspect the moral of the lesson will be completely lost on you two."

Both agents were on their feet, again looking at each other. "Colonel," Jim said, "I don't get it."

"No, James, I'm sure you don't. You wouldn't be James West if you did listen to me, nor would Artemus be Artemus." He exhaled a long sigh. "And I'm not so sure we would want it any other way."

"No suspensions?" Artie repeated, still incredulous. "No fines?"

"None. I expect there may be a commendation of some sort before this is all over. A huge murder ring has been stopped, gentlemen, thanks greatly to your efforts. And to think it all started due to one huge coincidence. Artemus, do you think you could come up with any more disguises that would fool wanted criminals into revealing themselves?"

"That's what he does regularly, sir," Jim put in.

Richmond nodded. "So he does. So he does. Well, I'd better be going. You two are heading east, I'm going north. I expect I'll see you again soon, and probably before the Kingston trials begin."

"No doubt, sir." Artemus grinned as he followed Richmond toward the door at the rear of the car. "No doubt, indeed."

"Colonel," Jim called. Richmond paused and looked back. "The bonus… was that also a… a hoax?"

"No, indeed. The only untrue part was that the bonus also applies to Mr. Gordon. When it arrives, take a couple days off and enjoy yourselves… with pay. Good day."

The two agents stood silently for a long moment after the door closed. Finally Artemus turned to look at his partner. "Jim? What just happened? Were we censured or blessed?"

Jim West stood with his arms akimbo, shaking his head. "I suspect a little of both."

"You don't suppose that the colonel was trying to change our wild, wild ways."

"No. Certainly not. At least… I don't think so."

"I agree. Wholeheartedly. He wouldn't want us to change… would he?"

Both men began to laugh. After a minute or so, both needed to find chairs and handkerchiefs to mop their eyes. Not often did Colonel James Richmond get the best of them, and if he had been after retribution for the times the two agents had pulled the wool over his eyes, he most assuredly had gained it today!

**THE END**


End file.
